No Such Thing
by ThumperCat
Summary: In the past six months, Don and his team have been hunting an elusive serial killer: and one of the victims has a tie to Charlie. Weird things have been happening around him lately. But there's no such thing as ghosts, are there?
1. Prologue

First off, I would like to say that this is my first ever fanfic for something that doesn't have to do with a book. I've never really felt wholly comfortable with writing fanfictions anyway, something about taking other people's characters and bending them to my own ways feels a little wrong, but this idea has been bouncing around in my head for too long screaming "Ooo! Pick me! I want to written next!" so, finally, my obsession with Numb3rs and long-time love of Ghost Whisperer made me put this together. I also feel a little off trying to take something you watch and turn it into something you read. So I guess what I'm trying to say is that I'm not sure how this is going to turn out.

Some things to know before I start is the time zone. This takes place pretty much before the last few episodes of Numb3rs, or somewhere in the last season. In Ghost Whisperer time, it's before Aiden came along, Eli is there, Payne never left (sniff... Payne...), and the whole JimdyingandcomingbackasSam thing never happened. (shudder) XP.

I don't claim anything but the plot and original characters in this.

If the characters seem a bit awkward at first, I aplogoize. That kind of goes along the "never feeling wholly comfortable about taking other people's characters" thing I mentioned earlier. I hope it will get better.

So after that novel itself, on with the story! Reveiws are much appreciated. Enjoy!

- Thumper

* * *

**Prologue**  
_About one month ago, Los Angeles_

They should've been here by now. They should've already been able to figure out where she was. He had had enough time, right? Why weren't they here already?

She cracked her knuckles, again and again, a nervous habit of hers. Her hands ached painfully from it by now, but she kept at it as she stared out the front window. Watching. Waiting. He wasn't here; he was taking a nap just down the hall. She could try again to escape, but the knowledge of the locked door, hidden key, her disastrous lock picking skills, and the small bottle of some kind of drug kept at hand weighed on her shoulders like a lead weight. Freedom was so close, but so far away.

She was just about to turn away from the window, another hopeless night of waiting discarded in the overgrowing pile. And then she heard it. A siren. That one wail of hope pulsed through her and she pressed herself up to the window as if to get closer to it.

It was getting closer, closer, and then she could see the black SUV turning the corner on the street, lights blinding in the rainy night, siren deafening. A smile formed on her cracked lips, the feeling of hope radiating from her. He had found her, they were coming. She was free.

And then just as soon as the SUV came, it was gone. It dashed down the street, past the house, the siren going with it and suddenly reality hit. She was still trapped. They weren't coming for her. He had failed her. The first time ever, he had failed her.

The hopelessness she had felt for the past week returned, only stronger now since her only savior had come and past. And suddenly she was on her feet. She could hear sobs and strangled sounding "no's" coming from her throat, quietly at first, and then louder. She got up and ran to the locked door and pounded on it with all the energy she had left. Her face was soaked with tears dripping off her cheeks onto the linoleum. "No!" she cried, "No! Come back! I'm in here!"

She didn't even hear his footsteps trampling down the hall. He was behind her, cussed, and said something about the neighbors. She turned her head, and at that instant, something cold and hard came down on her. There was a stab of pain coursing through her body for a millisecond, and then there was nothing.


	2. Chapter 1: Ghost or No Ghost

The first chapter will kick off with Ghost Whisperer. I know it's a little short, but upcoming chapters are going to be longer. Read, review, enjoy!

EDIT:

I just saw _Save Our Souls _again last night and realized I made a huge number boo-boo. I fixed it. Sorry everyone. :)

- Thumper

* * *

**Chapter 1  
**Ghost or No Ghost  
_Present day, Grandview_

"So let me get this straight," Delia said, arranging porcelain figurines on a display table, "You're going to leave me running the shop for two weeks straight while you're out enjoying California."

"Yeah, pretty much." Melinda answered. "That is if you haven't quit by then."

Delia moved on to dusting some of the vases. "No, I don't mind at all. You deserve some time off. I just don't anticipate spending a couple of weeks with no one to talk to besides Eli."

"Hey!" Eli said defensively at the counter.

She gave him a shrug of apology and went back to dusting.

Melinda smiled at this and grabbed a duster to help her long-time friend out. The truth was she did feel a little guilty about leaving Delia in charge of the whole shop for two weeks, while trying to juggle her real-estate job and being a mother for Ned. Also, if Eli had any troubles with any ghosts, there would be no one to help him out.

But Jim and her had been planning this trip for months. He had always wanted to take a vacation to California, hit a few beaches, tour in LA and Hollywood. So when Jim had saved up two weeks worth of vacation time, they had decided it was time to go.

"Eli won't be the only one to talk to," she reassured her, "I'm sure Payne will pop in at least once."

Delia gave a short snort of disbelief. "Like that's even better."

Eli looked up from the paper he was reading. "You know, I'm not too sure I'm all for this either. I mean, last time you guys went on vacation, I got stuck solving the problems of at least two hundred ghosts over the phone at one in the morning. That vacation wasn't too fun for me."

"I think it was closer to two dozen, actually," Melinda corrected him.

"Whatever." He went back to his paper.

Melinda picked a beautifully decorated ceramic plate up to clean. Something flashed across it after about four swipes of the dusting rag. She stopped rubbing it for a minute and turned around, perplexed. She looked at Eli, "Did you hear anything?"

Eli looked up with a confused expression, "Me? No." He paused and thought about it for a minute before adding a suspicious "Should I have?"

She looked back at the plate, moving it ever so slightly that it caught the light from the ceiling lamp. The flash she saw could've been as innocent as reflecting a light, "Nothing," she muttered, "Nevermind." Not everything had to be a ghost, did it?

* * *

There was a thunder of footsteps down the stairs and then Jim's voice calling out, "Honey, you ready?"

"Oh, yeah," Melinda jumped up from the couch, broken out of her thoughts. She quickly grabbed her bags and walked to the door where her husband was waiting. She smiled, but he kept staring at her. Her smile disappeared. "What?"

Jim studied her a bit more. "I know that look," he said.

Melinda knew exactly what he was talking about. She took a breath, "Okay, I might have seen something today."

Jim sighed and immediately put down the bags.

"But-" she said, holding up a finger for him to wait. "But I don't know if it was a ghost. I mean, I didn't really see it. And Eli didn't hear anything. So I don't really know if I did. I guess I've just been seeing them for so long, I see them when there's nothing there." She took a deep breath after all this.

Jim cocked his head to the side as he took all of her ramblings in. "Okay. So should we wait around a couple of days to see if it makes itself visible?"

Should they stay? Melinda never liked leaving Grandview when a spirit needed help. But then again, there might not even be a spirit.

She put her hand to Jim's cheek and smiled, grateful that she had a husband that was willing to drop months- no, years- of planning for a problem of hers that might not even exist. "No," she said. "Let's go. I'm ready for two weeks in the sun!"


	3. Chapter 2: Deja Vu

Yeah, chapter 2 is about the shortest thing you'll ever see, but here you go. It explains the plot further.

Feedback is always appreciated.

- Thumper

* * *

**Chapter 2  
**Déjà Vu  
_Los Angeles_

A picture of a girl appeared on the screen. She looked about twenty-five, straight highlighted blond hair, deep blue eyes, and a smile adorned her face. A second picture of a girl about the same age appeared next to it, about the same features, the same smiling face. A third one appeared next to that one again, again with the same happy face. As if nothing bad could ever happen in the world. As if evil only existed in books and Hollywood. Of course, Don knew better.

He clicked a button on a remote he had and another picture appeared. This one was of a man, light cropped hair and a stern face. He could've been about thirty.

"You should already know who these women are." Don addressed his team, motioning to the first three pictures on the screen. "Brittany Taylor, Jennifer McFowel, and Stacy Morgan. In the past few months they've all been kidnapped from their homes and found about a week later dead in a park not far from where they all lived."

He clicked the button again. This time the picture that appeared was of another girl with dark hair, almost black, hazel eyes, and faint freckles. She looked younger than the other three, barely over twenty.

"Last night Emily Harrison was abducted from near her apartment. Her roommates said she hadn't come back from a party that night and they called the police. The police think it's a work of Parker Rolands," Don said, nodding toward the photo of the man on the right, the slippery serial killer that had been eluding them for so long.

Don paused at this and looked around the room at his team. David and Liz were listening intently, the way they always did. Colby looked halfway bored, fumbling idly with a pen, and Niki just looked frustrated as if she couldn't believe they hadn't caught this guy already. They all were probably thinking that.

The CalSci squad was in the back. Charlie, Amita, and Larry had probably already started to work some kind of complicated equation to find the latest victim in their heads. Don's eyes caught on his baby brother. Charlie's shoulders were slumped, his head down as if he'd given up. He had only seen him like that like what, three, four times in his entire life. It wasn't a very common mood for Charlie, and it kind of concerned him.

"Nikki and Liz, I want you two to go talk to the roommates, see if they can tell us anything," Don ordered. They nodded. "Colby, David, check around the apartment to see if the police missed anything. I'm going to talk with LAPD and see what they have." He looked at the three professors in the back of the room. "Charlie, do you think you could do something with this?"

Charlie's head shot up, making his dark curls bounce slightly. "Well I… I guess I could…"

Larry picked up on his friend's distress and finished for him. "Given a few statistics, we could put something new together."

"Good." He looked at his brother and his lips set into a line. He knew he had taken the last girl's death, Stacy's, hard. She had been one of his students after all. He was obviously upset about what all had happened, and Don didn't blame him. But if they were going to catch this creep, he needed his help. Even if it meant Charlie overcoming a few demons.

Don turned his attention back to the team. "Alright, let's get a move on. We almost had this guy once. We can do it again."

At that, everyone got up and exited the room almost silently, ready to try to finally find Parker Rolands for the last time.


	4. Chapter 3: Weird

Feedback is loved unconditionally.

- Thumper

* * *

**Chapter 3  
**Weird

There was a knock at the door and then a second later Amita and Larry came through, carrying a couple of boxes. "We found the stuff from the old cases back," Amita said, "But no one has come back to-" she cut off mid-sentence as she took in the room before her. Everything looked pretty much normal. The chalkboard that had been rolled in about an hour ago although was perfectly clean, not even a sign that any chalk had ever made contact with it. That was the first tip to her that something was wrong. The second was the sight of her fiancé at his desk, his head down buried in his arm, who had clearly not heard her at all.

Amita put the box of files she had been carrying on the table. "Charlie?" she said a bit hesitantly at first, then louder. "Charlie!"

His head jerked up at the sound of his name and he blinked his eyes a few times until they adjusted. Amita regarded him closely. "Charlie, were you sleeping?" she asked incredulous.

He looked from Amita, to Larry, to the chalkboard, and then back to Amita again. "No, I was… I was just…" he knew he was caught and said almost sheepishly, "Yeah, I was. I must have dozed off or something." That was the truth. The last thing Charlie remembered was sitting down at his desk to try to clear his head so he could think straight. That was about- he looked at the clock- an hour ago.

Amita came over and sat on the desk by his left side. "You do remember you have a lecture in five minutes, right?"

Larry looked at his watch. "About three, actually," he corrected.

For a minute, Charlie just stared at her, then he remembered clearly and panic set in. In an instant, he was up, bolting through the office to collect the papers he needed.

"I'll take that as a no," Amita said to herself as she watched him dash across the room.

"You know, Charles, I'm not sure where this sudden spark of lateness came from," Larry said, resting his elbow on a box as he watched Charlie fly back and forth. "But I sure hope you've accomplished a way to be ridden of it by this Sunday."

Charlie paused for a moment in his rush and put his hands out, paper in each, exasperated, "What's Sunday?"

Now it was Larry's turn to hold out his hand exasperated. "Only the public lecture you've been getting ready for three months. Really, Charlie, I know this last case has been hard on you, but I've never seen you with such alack of memory. Are you sure you're alright?"

"I'm fine," he snapped. But the truth was he was anything but fine. Ever since Stacy Morgan had been found dead, he had felt… off. It seemed like he couldn't think, every time he would try his head would get fuzzy and light and nothing would come through. It had taken him days to prepare for the class he had in just a couple of minutes. And it seemed like he had been passing out wherever he was, no matter what time of day it was. And of course, there were the weird amnesia blotches, like the public lecture on Sunday. Which was two days away and he wasn't even prepared for yet.

And then of course he didn't trust his work he did for Don anymore.

"I have to go," Charlie muttered and pulled his bag off the desk. He got two steps before everything he had just put in flew out, scattering around the floor. He stopped dead in his tracks, rubbed his forehead and sighed. It seemed like he was becoming clumsy lately too.

Amita bent down to pick the mess up and handed it to him. "Thanks," he sighed and gave her a quick peck on the cheek before practically sprinting out the door.

"Good luck," she mumbled after he had left.

Larry watched where his former student had left and then looked to Amita. "Are you as concerned about him as I am?" he asked.

Amita chewed her lip for a moment watching the doorway. Then she broke her gaze away to the files and clean chalkboard. "I guess we should get started. Don wants something soon."

Larry nodded and they started going through the old case files again, searching for something they missed before.


	5. Chapter 4: Riddles

Here we go chapter 4. This is probably the first of the longer chapters.  
Enjoy. Reviews are loved

- Thumper

* * *

**Chapter 4**  
Riddles

Los Angeles was beautiful. From the moment Melinda stepped off the plane and saw the sunlight, she fell in love with the city. It already seemed like the sun shone a little brighter hear than in Grandview. It was almost a shame that they would leave it.

Jim had gotten a rental car after the plane landed, ensuring that it would be cheaper and easier to get around then waiting for a cab everywhere. Melinda didn't complain; she didn't really fancy relying on a taxi either.

"So do you see any ghosts yet?" Jim asked teasingly as he tried to navigate through the mind-boggling traffic.

"Everywhere," she replied happily, looking out the window. In fact, just there on the sidewalk was a homeless man who looked like he froze to death still asking piteously for a handout. And then there was an electric worker by a telephone pole who waved to her when they stopped in traffic. Melinda gave him a smile and a little wave back.

Jim didn't miss that. "I should've known." he sighed. "So where do we go first?"

It had been a late flight, and in Pacific Time, there was only two hours of daylight left. "A hotel would be good," she suggested.

"On it."

* * *

"Admit it, we're lost," Melinda sighed, looking up from a road map.

"No," Jim still insisted, "We're just taking a scenic route."

Somehow they had gotten away from the bustle of the city and were on a halfway empty road, of course, it seemed like no roads were ever all the way empty in LA to Melinda. There was a scattering of a few houses here and there and patches of trees too. But places to stop? No.

Also, they'd been driving around for it seemed like forever now and it had gotten dark. The flight had taken a lot out of Melinda, and she couldn't wait to fall into a bed.

"The only scenic drive I want right now is a street lined with hotels," she said, "And why can't guys ever admit their lost?"

Jim quickly slid away from that question with another one, "What is it with California people and their cars? I could run over that thing and pick it out of my grill."

Melinda gave him a playful shove and laughed. "Stop changing the subject!" She told him. "But I agree with you on the car thing." The one in front of them was one of those small eco-friendly cars. The kind you didn't' see anywhere around Grandview.

As she stared at the car, something moved in the back seat. She blinked a few times and looked again. Sure enough, there was someone in the back seat. This wouldn't have been a surprise if they didn't have a huge gash on their forehead and was slightly glowing. The woman stared at her with an unreadable expression. Melinda stared back.

And then the car carrying the spirit seemed to sway slightly to the right for a moment. It did it again and then completely swerved off the road. Melinda gasped as she watched the car go sliding down a bank and make a sickening crash as it ran into a tree on the side of the road. She grabbed Jim's arm and screeched, "Pull over!"

Jim didn't have to be told twice. He made the rental come to a screeching halt on the side of the road, not far from the car that wrecked. They both bolted out into the night and Jim rushed down the bank to help the person in the crash. "Call 911," he called up to her.

Melinda stopped on the top of the bank and whipped out her cell, pressing the buttons faster than she thought possible. She had just put it to her ear when the woman she saw earlier appeared next to her. She looked young, no older than thirty. There were dark hollows under her eyes, and her hair hung in thin lank strands. But the most disturbing thing was the gash in her forehead. It was right over her left eye and looked like it had been made by something small, dull, and round. Blood was running down that side of her face, just adding to the gruesome feature.

"Who are you?" Melinda asked, exasperated, "What have you done?"

The ghost stared at her with a blank expression and then slowly turned her head to the car. Jim had pried the door open and managed to drag the driver out onto the ground. It was a man, dark curly hair and unconscious. There was a cut on his forehead where he must have bashed it against the window or something. Melinda looked from him to the ghost and back. The gash was in the exact same place. That confirmed this wasn't a random accident after all.

"You have to cross over," she hissed to the woman. The emergency operator came on before she was finished speaking, so she quickly added, "Yes, there's been a car wreck." and gave them the name of the road they were on. The operator assured her that paramedics would arrive as soon as possible and Melinda hung up.

The ghost still hadn't spoken a word. Melinda was getting a little aggravated. "Will you just tell me why you're still here?" she practically shouted at her.

The woman turned her head slowly, creepily toward her again, anger flaring in her hollow eyes. "He wasn't there when I needed him. Why should you be here when he needs someone?" And then she was gone.

Melinda gave a frustrated sigh. Ghosts and their riddles. Why couldn't they just plainly say why they were still here if they remembered? The first of the sirens began to wail as Melinda puzzled over what little information the newest ghost had told her.


	6. Chapter 5: Crazy

I'd like to say thanks to all the people who took the time to read my little story. Thanks everyone. I really appreciate it. :)

- Thumper

* * *

**Chapter 5**  
Crazy

Even at ten thirty at night, the hospital was still as busy as ever. Nurses and doctors walked the halls, along with a few family members of some of the patients. Melinda observed all of this now, plus the occasional spirit that passed by. She was trying to summon up the nerves to talk to the haunted man that had crashed earlier that evening while waiting for Jim. That was the reason they were still there. She had briefly explained to Jim about the ghost. He was getting hot coffee from the hospital cafeteria now.

She watched from the lobby as the guy paced back and forth in his room on the phone. He looked beaten and worn out. Melinda didn't blame him. She was almost guilty for making his day about to get worse.

"Hey," Jim said coming up beside her with two steaming Styrofoam cups. He handed one to her and she took a small sip from it.

"Hey," she replied. "Did you finally get directions to a hotel?"

Her husband held up a piece of paper and shook it at her. "I have it. We're ready to go once you get done telling Professor Charles Eppes he has an unwelcome friend."

Melinda whipped her head around to look at him. "You know him?"

Jim shrugged. "Being able to prove you're a certified paramedic has its perks."

Melinda smiled. "So what else did you learn?"

"Well," he said taking a drink, "He's a professor at CalSci and consults for the FBI at times. He got a minor concussion in the crash, but he'll be alright."

"Mmm, FBI," Melinda murmured. Well that opened a few more doors on the ghost at least. She handed her coffee to Jim and said, "I'm going to talk to him." and then as an afterthought, she added, "Wish me luck."

"Always have," he called after her.

"… don't know what happened," Melinda heard the professor talking as she reached his door. He was looking out the window, his back to her, so he didn't even notice her standing there. "I mean, I was going home and then…" he trailed off, running a hand through his thick hair. "I know, I'm sorry, Dad. Okay. Bye."

He hung up and turned around, jumping a little as he saw Melinda standing in the doorway. He winced and put a hand to his head.

"Hi," Melinda said, going in, "My name in Melinda Gordon. My husband and I were the ones that found you…"

"Oh, yeah," he said coming toward her with an outstretched hand. "I wanted to thank you for that. I'm Charlie Eppes."

She smiled and took his hand. "I was wondering if I could ask you a few things." she stated.

Charlie shrugged, "Sure. I guess."

Melinda chose her words carefully. "I guess I just wondered if you knew what happened."

"I don't really know, it seemed like I was just driving along and then I woke up in an ambulance." he admitted, fingering the bandage on his forehead. "I remember felling tired. I must have fallen asleep or something."

"Have you been tired a lot lately?"

"Kind of." he said, suspiciously. "Look, I'm grateful for what you did and everything, but if you're trying to sell something, I'm not interested."

"No, I'm not selling anything. Just a curious question." How come she always sounded like a traveling salesman with these things?

He nodded after a moment. "Yeah. It seems like I just sit down and I'm asleep."

Melinda nodded and looked down at her hands for a minute before saying, "This might come as a strange question- actually, I know it will come as a strange question- but has anyone in your family died recently?" Friends maybe?"

She knew it was coming before Charlie even did it, that strange facial expression that was somehow between surprise, mistrust, and defensiveness. "How is that even remotely related to-"

"I know," she cut him off, "It's nothing. I'm sorry."

He nodded slowly, a puzzled look on his face like he was debating if she was going to go crazy right in front of him. Melinda knew that look well too.

There was an awkward silence for a moment and then Charlie looked up, past her head, and quickly brushed past her with a murmured, "Thanks again."

Melinda turned around to see a group of three people come toward him. One of them, a dark haired woman ran into his arms. The other two, one an older gray-haired man, the other a middle-aged man, gathered around him. She wondered why someone would be haunting him as she looked on this scene. Especially one that looked like she had a brutal death like this one. Just in case, Melinda glanced around the small hospital room in search for vengeful ghost. There was nothing.

* * *

"So how'd it go?" Jim asked after she found him the in the first place she looked: the cafeteria. He was stuffing his mouth with a sub sandwich as she came up.

"Not good," Melinda replied plopping down in a chair across the small table from him.

"Did you tell him about his ghost?

She bit her lip. "No. But I think I scared him off enough to avoid me from now on."

Jim put the rest of his sandwich down and was quiet for a moment before he said, "You know, why don't you just let this one go?"

Melinda, who was fingering the top of the coffee cup, shot her head up to look at him. She had never "let one go" as he put it. Usually they wouldn't let her. She opened her mouth to say just that, but her husband raised a hand.

"Hear me out, alright Mel?" he said, "We're only going to be in LA for a couple of days and all the way across the country in a couple of weeks. And it's obvious that the ghost doesn't want to cross over and this Eppes guy obviously won't want to listen to you when you do tell him, so why not let it go?"

Melinda didn't say anything, just stared at him. "You know I can't do that," she said quietly.

Jim's eyes widened a little as he realized what he said and quickly scooted his chair over to her and put an arm around her waist. "No. I know that. I'm sorry. I guess I just thought this could be a … quiet vacation. Without any supernatural beings involved."

She remained silent, thinking.

"But I know that's not possible all the time, so forget it."

"No, you're right." Melinda agreed. "This is your time off. Not mine. You deserve to have just a normal vacation."

Jim raised his hand. "No. I can't keep you from helping someone. I'm cool with it."

"And I'm sure your just thrilled that you spent your first night in California in a hospital," she laughed.

He smiled. "I've been worse."

Melinda sighed. "I'll tell you what. I'll only try to help this ghost for as long as we're in Los Angeles, that is if she wants help. After we leave, I won't mess with it."

"Is that possible?"

"It won't be easy. But my mom does it all the time, so how bad can it be?"

Jim studied her for a minute to make sure she was being serious. When he saw she was, he said, "Okay, I'll take that deal. How long will you need to stay here?"

Melinda smiled, glad that they had come to a truce. "How long were you planning to stay?"


	7. Chapter 6: Drugs and French Fries

Chapter 6 is here because I wanted to write a chapter with my favorite Fed, Colby. That's pretty much the only reason it's here.

I know Gabriel Wilkenson is the the very definition of cliche drug dealer. I'm sorry. It felt exactly right while writing him so I didn't change anything.

So enjoy. And remember I'm still waiting for my first review.

- Thumper

* * *

**Chapter 6**  
Drugs and French Fries

"I can't believe we're still here." David thought aloud. He sighed and lowered the binoculars he was holding to his eyes.

Colby sensed his partner's discomfort. "Fry?" he offered, holding out the container he picked up at the fast food joint they had stopped at earlier.

David waved them away with his hand and looked out the window into the darkness of the night. There was no one in sight, and that didn't only mean the shifty drug dealer they were waiting or. There was literally no one on the street. All the dingy houses were locked up tight, all the lights off, as the people in them got ready for another night in the bad part of the city.

Colby glanced at the clock on the dashboard. It glowed 1:45 in neon red letters. "Maybe he's not coming out tonight." he suggested.

David gave him a disbelieving look that practically said, "We've been following this guy for six months. He's going to come."

Colby broke his gaze, shrugged, and went back to stuffing French fries in his face. He was right of course; they had been following Gabriel Wilkenson for six months, and by now they pretty well had his schedule down. And unless he went broke or miraculously kicked the addiction, he would be on this street corner, trying to sell his poison to anyone that will listen. It sickened Colby to know this creep was still on the streets, but, according to Don, Wilkenson was who Rolands got his drugs from and it would be more beneficial to keep him out of prison and use him as bait. So far, it had worked once. By the time they got there the transaction had already been made and Rolands zoomed off in a beaten up pickup truck.

So then, of course, they put up a search for the truck. Two days later, LAPD found it in an abandoned parking lot, newly washed and the plates stripped off. A day after that, they found Jenny McFowel in a ditch of a local park.

The problem with this guy was he kept changing his name, his ride, his location, even his appearance, every time they were so close to catching him. After the FBI had figured out who he was and where he lived, he had left the state already, maybe even the country. But he would always return to Los Angeles at one point, whole new name, whole new appearance, whole new identity. The blonde Parker Rolands had killed Brittany Taylor. Dark haired and bearded William Davis had killed Jenny McFowel. And Brad Hagon, a red head with a nasty scar down his cheek. Whenever he killed someone new and left, it was like they had to start all over again. He was so clean, so careful, and so frustratingly slippery.

But tonight they weren't out just spying on Wilkenson. No, tonight they were ready to talk to him, to see what he knew of Parker Rolands. That is, if he ever showed up.

David sighed as he raised the binoculars to his eyes again and lowered them a few seconds later, tossing them on the dashboard. He reached over for the fry container. Colby quickly moved them out of reach.

"Hey man, you said you didn't want any," Colby said, shoving a couple more fries in his mouth.

"Just give me the freaking fries," David told him reaching for them again

"Get your own," Colby replied and looked up to see his partner frozen, looking out the windshield. Colby looked too, and through the darkness, he could just make out the shape of a scrawny man with long, greasy hair wearing a way too big coat. That was Wilkenson all right. "Finally," he sighed.

"Let's go," said David, strapping his gun into his belt and opening the driver side door. Colby followed his partner into the cool night air. The two of them made their way across the street to the drug dealer.

"Gabriel Wilkenson," David called to him when they were nearer. The druggie shot his head up at the sound of his name. He threw the cigarette he was huffing on onto the ground and crushed it against his boot.

"You gentlemen lookin' for a way to rid your troubles?" he smiled, showing an m mouth full of missing teeth.

"Sure," Colby answered, "Only it would involve getting rid of you."

Wilkenson grinned, but his eyes held a wary look.

David pulled out his badge to show the man and said, "FBI. We want to talk to you."

At the sound of "FBI" Wilkenson took off running down the street as fast as his legs would carry him. Colby sighed and took off after him, David following right behind. Wilkenson scurried into a narrow alley like the little rodent he was, knocking trashcans over to slow the feds down. Colby and David nimbly jumped over them and chased the druggie through the twists and turns he made.

Wilkenson headed for the river that ran through that part of the city. He threw his coat off onto the ground and launched himself off the high embankment into the waters below. Colby was quick to follow; he dived into the muddy river after him. An instant ache seeped into his muscles from the frigid water, and Colby had to push himself to keep moving. Wilkenson's plan obviously was to swim to the other side, but he was struggling himself in the river water. Colby caught up to him easily and tugged the thrashing man back to the shore where David was waiting.

David helped them both out and threw Wilkenson onto the ground where he lay without troubles, coughing and gasping for breath, his hands raised to the gun David was pointing at him.

Colby took hard breaths from the long run. "You could've helped me out in there," he said to his partner, motioning to the river.

David took a glance at the murky river rushing by. "You looked like you had it under control," he replied, grinning.

Colby reached over and picked up the coat Wilkenson had abandoned on the dry land. He reached in the pockets and pulled out a handful of small bottles filled with some kind of liquid. He held it up to show the drug dealer. "Have any business tonight?" he asked him.

Wilkenson looked truly terrified. "No sir," he gasped. He looked from one agent to the other and started his sob story. "It's not what you think. I'm only tryin' to fee my children. And my wife, she's-"

"Yeah, we know. She's terribly sick, right?" David finished sarcastically. "Look, all we want is to ask you a few questions."

He gulped, but was silent.

"Where is Parker Rolands?" David asked

"I don't know who that is."

"Don't play games with us. We know you sell him drugs."

The little man kept his mouth shut. He coughed once and shivered from the cold.

Colby sighed loudly. "He could be going by the names William Davis, Brad Hagon. Anything ringing a bell for you?"

Wilkenson looked from one Fed to the other. He gave up. "I used to sell to him. Not anymore."

Colby and David exchanged glances. "What do you mean?" Colby asked.

"I mean, I don't sell nothing' to him anymore. I haven't seen him since you guys showed up one time. It must've scared him off." he paused, his watery eyes flicking nervously. "Can I go now?"

It had been six months since the FBI had caught Rolands buying drugs. They had been keeping this scumbag on the streets for six months for no reason at all. Colby grimaced, resisting the overwhelming urge to spit in his face. He hauled Wilkenson to his fee by the collar of his shirt and quickly handcuffed him.

"What are you doin'?" Wilkenson squeaked, "I told you, I don't know where he is!"

David holstered his gun. "No, but selling illegal drugs is a felony in most states."

Colby grinned and then stopped as he thought of something. "So who wants to break the news to Don that we've been following a false lead all this time?"

David sighed just thinking of that conversation. "Maybe he can spit out something useful when we get him to headquarters." he suggested doubtfully.

Colby looked at the small man shivering under his hand. Small squeaking noises were coming out of his throat as they towed him back to the car. "Yeah. And maybe I'll let you have some of my fries."


	8. Chapter 7: Brotherly Feud

Here you go chapter 7. I'm running out of things to say. :)

- Thumper

* * *

**Chapter 7  
**Brotherly Feud

Everything was quiet; the sound of the clock ticking down the seconds, minutes, hours, and the scribbling of pen on paper were the only sounds in the room. It was still, peaceful, tranquil. But of course, nothing like that could last for that long without an interruption of some kind. For Charlie, it was the closing of a door.

The door banged shut loudly, breaking Charlie out of his thoughts. He jumped at the sound of it which set his heart racing in his chest and his head pounding. "Anyone home?" Don called from the foyer.

"In here," he called back, a little peeved at his older brother for breaking his concentration the one time he had it. He looked back at his work, completely lost at where he was.

"Hey," Don said coming into the room, "I thought no one was here. All the lights are off."

Charlie looked around. He didn't even notice the growing dark while he was working. There was only enough light in the room to see what he was doing. "Huh." he said for an answer.

Don went into the kitchen and returned with a beer from the fridge. He sat down in the chair next to him and popped to top. "Geez Chuck, how can work with so much quiet?" he asked, turning on the TV to a baseball game.

"Actually, I think better in complete quiet," he told him, sending a hint-hint nudge-nudge his way. Don didn't pick up on it and reached over to turn on a light. As does dark," he added with a sigh. Sometimes Charlie wondered why he was the only one who paid the bills around here.

Don acted like he hadn't heard a word he said, or hadn't wanted to. "So what are you working on there?" he asked.

"Tomorrow's lecture," Charlie answered. He tried again to regain his train of thought with no success.

Don nodded then eyed him suspiciously. "I'm dink of surprised you don't have that done by now."

Charlie gave a short humorless laugh. "I am too." he agreed. In fact he wasn't even sure he would have it done by tomorrow.

There was a long pause where all he could hear was the game stats being read loudly on the television. Charlie could feel his brother's eyes on him. "Hey, the Yankees are winning," he said, just to break the silence.

Don reached over to turn off the TV and the silence that followed was deafening. "What is going on with you?" he finally spoke, sounding irritated, but Charlie knew him well enough to pick up on the hidden concern in his voice.

"What do you mean?" Charlie asked innocently.

"Oh, don't play dumb with me, Charlie," said Don, "You've been acting strange for a few weeks now. I knew Stacy Morgan was a student of yours, but man, this is ridiculous."

Charlie met his gaze. "I don't know what you're talking about," he lied pitifully.

Don sighed. He got up and started to pace around the room. "I'm talking about his," he motioned to what Charlie was working on, the lecture that was only a day away. "Usually you have things like this done a few weeks ahead of time, not a few hours!"

Charlie shook his head, "I've been busy."

"Doing what? Larry and Amita showed the team what they came up with for the case today, and it was obvious by the way they talked that you didn't contribute to that at all-"

"I do have classes to teach, Don." Charlie told him. He rose to his feet, frustration clear in his voice. "I do have another job other than helping the FBI. The whole world doesn't revolve around you!"

"I know! I know that, but Charlie, I'm not just talking about the FBI. I mean your attitude too."

"Ha! Now you sound like Dad." He fell back into the chair again.

"I'm serious Charlie! You've been acting weird. It's like you just don't care about anything anymore. I mean, you're jumpy, you've been procrastinating on everything, you've been snapping at everyone-"

"I haven't' snapped at anyone!" Charlie snapped.

"-you've been late for your classes, you've been falling asleep everywhere-" "Wait," he stopped his brother, suddenly completely calm, "How do you know that?"

Don sighed, relieved he was finally getting through to him, "Amita talked to me."

"Amita talked to you?" he echoed back quietly.

"Yeah, she did. She's worried about you, Chuck. I think everyone is."

Don let this sink into him for a moment before he continued. "Look, Buddy, everyone makes mistakes in their life. It's impossible not to. I can't even count all the ones I've made."

Charlie looked at him, shadows in his eyes. "But it's different for you. I'm supposed to be the best at what I do."

"So am I!" Don exclaimed.

"You just don't understand," Charlie said.

"No, I do! I know you feel guilty and all, but-"

Don was cut off by something flying past his head. He ducked it just in time to not get hit as it flew by and smashed into the window with a loud crack. Don bent down and retrieved a pen, broken by the impact with the window. He held it up. "Oh, so now you're trying to put my eye out with a pen. Real mature, Chuck."

By this time, Charlie was on his feet. "I didn't throw that," he said totally serious.

Don looked around. "So who did? A ghost?"

"No, seriously!" Charlie took the smashed pen out of his hand to examine it closer. "It just… flew out of my hand."

Don pulled back the curtain to analyze the window. "Dang Charlie, you cracked the glass."

"What?" Sure enough, there was a spider web crack in the glass. A mall, practically white circle adorned the glass where the most force was applied. Hair thin lines stretched out from that.

He looked at the busted pen and then his hand, and to the window. How had that happened? He had been holding onto the pen while arguing with Don, and then it had been shooting out of his hand. He must have been waving his arms around and lost his grip or something.

The door opened making Charlie jump a bit. It didn't go past Don's hawk-like eyes though. He gave him a pointed look, like Charlie just proved his point he had been trying to make all night. Charlie pretended to ignore it as Alan's voice wafted into the room. "Hey Charlie, I brought supper-" their father walked into the living room, "Oh, hi Donny. It's god I bought extra."

He took in his son's expressions and raised his eyebrows. "I haven't seen you two look like this since that time you broke your grandmother's vase trying to play baseball in the house." Charlie slowly closed his gaping mouth. "What happened?"

Don made his way back to the chair and turned on the TV again. "Charlie has a pretty good throwing arm."

Alan narrowed his eyes.

"It must have swung out of my hand…" Charlie mumbled, still kind of distracted. He cleared his throat. "I'll get someone to replace the window on Monday."

Alan moved to the window and saw the crack. He turned back to Charlie and Don. "Okay, someone has some explaining to do."

Charlie let Don fill him in on the details. He looked at the pen again and then the window. He was for sure he hadn't thrown it. And he couldn't have that hard. He shook his head and retrieved a non-smashed pen from the kitchen to get back to his work. It must have slipped out of his hand. It wasn't like pens could fly on their own.


	9. Chapter 8: Fan

This is like chapter 6. I wanted to write something with Payne. And so chapter 8 was born...

Reviews are always welcomed.

- Thumper

* * *

**Chapter 8  
**Fan

The phone rang three times before it was picked up. "Professor Payne speaking," said the voice on the other line.

"Hey, it's Melinda," Melinda said, smiling at the familiarity of Payne's voice.

"Melinda!" Payne exclaimed, "How's the sun in California?"

Melinda looked outside, "Bright," she answered simply.

He laughed. "Okay, I know you didn't call just to gloat about the weather where you are."

"Who knows, maybe I did."

"Nah, you're not that kind of person. What do you really want?"

When they had left the hospital that first night, Melinda was determined to find a way to cross the ghost over before they left LA. She was almost positive that the ghost would appear to her again, every spirit did whether they liked what she was trying to do or not. Melinda just had to find a way to talk to Professor Eppes. Jim had told her he taught at a local college, CalSci, she thought it was called, and she probably could've gone there to find his office and talk to him. But Melinda liked to have some knowledge before going in. Of course if the hotel had their Wi-fi working properly, she wouldn't have to take the long route. But what better way to get to know a professor from a professor?

"Okay, I need to ask a small favor." she told him.

"Aha! I knew it!" Payne said victoriously, "You just can't call me anytime to ask, 'Oh, how is your day going today, Rick?' Nope, you always need something." he ranted on. Melinda was quiet until he was done.

"Oh, how is your day going today, Rick? She asked mockingly.

"Actually, it hasn't been going too good. First I slammed my pinky in the door, and then, when I was done cussing over that, I was late for my first class. But thanks anyway for asking. It's nice to know that I'm cared about."

Melinda rolled her eyes and sighed. "Can you just do something for me?"

"Sure," Payne agreed enthusiastically, "Ask away. My computer is running."

"I need you to find information on Professor Charles Eppes." she told him. There was a long pause, "Rick? Are you still there?"

"Do you mean _the_ Professor Charles Eppes?" he gasped.

"Yeah I guess," Melinda said a little confused, "Do you know him?"

"Not personally, but I know of him." Payne said, admiration clearly in his voice, "He's only one of the greatest mathematicians in the modern world!"

"Okay. So it'll be easy to find him?"

Payne gave an exasperated sound, "You seriously have no idea who this guy is, do you?"

"I'm sorry if I'm not hip on the whole mathematics thing." Melinda apologized sarcastically.

"Well that's only one of his jobs," he informed her, "He also has the title of FBI, NSA, and CIA consultant and author. Not to mention teaching and giving Math-for-Dummies lessons every once in a while." There was the sound of papers rustling somewhere, "This guy is one busy dude. Man, I'm beat from trying to teach all these college brats all day."

"Hey, be nice!" Melinda scolded. She thought of something. "Math-for Dummies?" is that open to the public?"

"Well of course, but it isn't called that obviously. I've always wanted to go to one of his lectures, but the geographic distance is a pain."

Melinda nodded to herself, thinking. "Can you see when the next one of his lectures is?" she asked.

"Yeah, sure." There was a pause as Payne consulted his computer. "You're in luck. The closest one is tomorrow."

"That's great!" Melinda told him taking down the time and location he gave her. "You are such a help."

"I know. You couldn't live without me," Payne said, a smile in his voice at the flattery. "But do me a favor, if you go to this thing, tell me all about it when you get back. Or better yet, bring one of those tape recorder thingies."

She let her friend ramble on for a while longer before she finally said, "I'll see what I can do. Thank you so much, Rick."

Melinda was about to hang up when Payne exclaimed, "Wait, why are you so interested in this guy anyway? He surly doesn't have a spirit hanging on to him too." He laughed.

Melinda was silent.

"Ho you have got to be kidding me! Does everyone have a ghost now?" he sounded annoyed.

She sighed. "Sometimes it seems like it."

"So what's the story with this one? Someone die while reading his book? A homeless bum who can't stand the sight of numbers?"

"I think it's a little more serious than that," Melinda told her friend, ignoring the sarcasm in Payne's voice. She thought about the gruesome wound on the ghost's forehead and quickly filled him in on what happened. When she was done, the professor that always had something to say was speechless.

"You helped _Charlie Eppes _when he crashed his car?" he finally spit out, something like awe in his voice.

Melinda quickly corrected him. "When a _ghost_ crashed his car. What is it with you and this guy anyway?"

"I'm sorry, I'm a fan!" Payne defended himself. "When everyone else follows actors in a hit movie, I follow people who write brilliant papers that can rotationally change the world. What's wrong with that?"

She laughed. "Okay, when you put it that way…"

"Ah, now you're coming over to my side. I knew it would happen sooner or later.." Melinda rolled her eyes as Payne continued, "Not that I don't like actors though. I just saw that new horror movie yesterday. Man, talk about a bloodbath-" "Goodbye, Rick," she talked over him, "Thanks for the help."

"No, wait! I have to tell you about this one part where this guy's head got sliced clean-"

Melinda hung up before he could fill her in on the gory details. She set the phone down on the hotel nightstand and looked at the piece of paper with the information Professor Payne had given her. She would make it to that lecture. It would give her a chance to cross over another earthbound spirit.


	10. Chapter 9: Progress

This is pretty just an information chapter. It gives a little bit more info on the serial killer at large. Sorry about the long non-updating period.

- Thumper

* * *

**Chapter 9  
**Progress  
_8:30 PM_

"So what did we find out from Wilkenson?" Don pushed open the door and led his team into the war room. David and Colby had interviewed Gabriel Wilkenson that morning after picking the drug dealer up the night before. Don was eager to hear what he knew.

Colby, David, Liz, and Nikki came in behind him and pulled out chairs to sit down. Colby hopped onto a table. "Well, we found out that Wilkenson stutters uncontrollably when he's scared out of his wits," he informed the team. "What did we learn though? Absolutely nothing."

"Rolands stopped buying from Wilkenson when we almost caught him that one time, David took over, filling in the details. "He hasn't heard from him since."

Nikki shrugged her shoulders, "Maybe he's just lying to get off easier."

Colby gave a humorless laugh. "It's impossible for a human being to shake as more than he was. I don't think he was lying."

Don sighed and rubbed his forehead. He had hoped that Wilkenson would be their ticket to finding Rolands once and for all. Now they were back to square one. "Well at least we have one more creep off the streets." he concluded.

The team nodded grimly. It wasn't the creep they wanted though.

"So where does that leave us?" Nikki asked in a frustrated tone.

Don shook his head, halfway to defeat. "Larry and Amita re coming by. They should have something for us."

"Where's the third resident genius?" Liz wondered.

"He's at some lecture or conference, or something like that." Don waved a hand.

A couple of minutes later the door opened again and Larry and Amita came through brandishing a laptop. Greetings were exchanged and Amita hooked up the computer to the projector on the wall.

"Hey guys, what do you have?" Don asked them.

"Well, we looked over the data in the old files and we think we've found something," Larry said.

Amita turned on the computer and a map of Los Angeles was magnified on the screen. "We've put a few algorithms together and it came out with an area where Emily Harrison might be being held." she informed the agents. She pressed a button and the map zoomed into the neighborhood where the four girls had all been kidnapped from. "Brittany Taylor, Jenny McFowel, Stacy Morgan, and Emily Harrison were all abducted around the same place." Five dots appeared on the map, four of them showing the locations where the girls had lived.

"That place being Marshall Tanner Park," Larry filled in, pointing to the last red dot a little farther away from the rest.

"Yeah, that's where Rolands dumped all the bodies," Liz filled in. "He picked that park because it was where he went after his mother left. He felt safe there."

Larry nodded. "He only abducts and murders young blonde women because they remind him of his mother before she left him. Then he leaves them in a place he feels most at peace because he feels remorse for killing them."

"So given that information, Gabriel Wilkenson's post, and where Rolands was with Stacy Morgan, we can determine where he stayed in the same neighborhood, or somewhere around the same neighborhood." Amita informed them.

"The same neighborhood he grew up in," Larry added thoughtfully.

Colby grinned. "Megan's behavior analysis thing came into good use after all."

Amita smiled at the agent's comment and went back to the laptop. "But we already knew his history and reason. Now, we found a pattern in the abduction locations and have determined the general area of where Emily should be."

She drew a circle around an area on the map northwest of Marshall Tanner Park. The agents stared at the spot with a forlorn feeling rising deep in their guts.

"Ah, come on guys," Don sighed, looking at the circle. "That'll take days to cover. And we don't have days." Rolands had usually kept the girls for a week at tops before dumping them. He only kept Stacy around for four days.

Plus, Rolands skipped around a lot too. Like Amita said, he mostly kept within miles of his old neighborhood, but Rolands was known to go off the charts. In Brittany Taylor's case, he moved all the way across the city twice before returning to the park to dump her body. If he did something like that again they would have to start all over from the beginning, which would cost more time. And who knew how long Emily Harrison had?

Larry nodded. "We know. It's just that…" he trailed off.

"Charlie is usually better with patterns." Amita finished for the older professor.

"That is true," Larry agreed.

"Okay, so where has Charlie been?" Colby asked, totally oblivious.

Don fiddled with his watch. Larry brought his hands close to his face and looked pensive. Amita glanced at her hands. "He's been busy." She said simply.

David didn't let the three's reactions go unnoticed. "Am I missing something?" He wondered aloud.

Larry, Amita, and Don exchanged glances. "No," Don told him. "Charlie's just been under a lot of stress lately. That's all."

"I can't blame him there," Colby stated grimly.

"But we could really use his expertise right now." Larry confirmed what the whole room was thinking.

Don ran a hand through his hair as he though of what to do next. "Okay. David, why don't you and Liz drive through that area tonight and see if you can find something abnormal. Colby and Nikki, you guys can take another car and do the same. Maybe it'll go faster that way. We'll go from there once you get back."

The team nodded and began to get up to get on their job. "And be sneaky," Don added, "We don't want this guy to skip town again." Once everyone exited the war room, Don began to follow,. Deciding to study some to the old case files again, as if they might open up and give him the exact address where Rolands was hiding. He was almost out the door when his cell rang. He fished it out of his pocket and automatically answered, "Eppes."

Don listened to the man on the other end, someone he knew from LAPD, and his eyes widened. "Is he alright?" he asked him worriedly. "Okay, Thanks for calling me, Ryan. I appreciate it." he hung up, all of a sudden Parker Rolands and Emily Harrison forgotten.

He did go to his desk in the bullpen area, but it wasn't to sit down for the next for or five hours to go over files. He hovered briefly, searching for his keys which were hiding behind a stack of papers.

His head was still whirling, heart still thudding hard as Don walked quickly to the elevator and his car.

* * *

Just a quick question here, Does Rolands seem realistic or not? All of my bad guys end up sounding too evil and cartoon villianish. Seriously, it's like they should have a curly mustache and go "Mwahahahaha"...


	11. Chapter 10: Murder

A little shorter, but I hope I got the point across. Learning more about the spooky ghost. Ooooo...

Some Charlie whumping ahead. Enjoy.

- Thumper

* * *

**Chapter 10  
**Murder  
_6:45 PM_

Melinda's eyes took in the scene before her; people filing into a well-lit modern building while the sun slowly sank lower in the sky. Her eyes flickered to the piece of paper with the address she was clutching in her hand. It was the right place.

Jim turned off the engine of the rental and looked at his wife and asked what she had been thinking. "Is this the place?"

Melinda nodded. She still felt a little guilty about dragging him here. "I'm sorry I'm taking over your vacation," she apologized again.

He waved her off with a hand. "No. I'm always eager to expand my horizons."

She smiled and together they got out and went inside the building to listen to the speech.

It was pretty interesting actually and only confusing at certain parts. Too bad she couldn't enjoy Professor Eppes' lecture fully; she was too busy looking for any signs of the ghost.

About half an hour in is when Melinda felt it: a sleepy, dizzy, nauseating feeling like she had been drugged. Her head swayed a little bit, and she felt Jim's concerned eyes on her. Melinda was about to tell him that she was going to the lady's room, but her eyes caught on a figure in the aisle. It was the woman. The ghost was looking at Charlie, but her gaze turned to Melinda. And then she disappeared.

Melinda quietly excused herself and made her way purposefully into the lobby. The only person there was a janitor who was busy sweeping up the polished floor. She spoke in a low voice just in case he was near enough to overhear. "I know you're here," she whispered.

The young woman appeared beside her. "What do you want?" she asked her. Melinda turned around to face the spirit. She was young, very young, with lank blond hear that had fragments of twigs and dead leaves throughout it. Her clothes looked expensive and knew, albeit the smeared mud, blood, and occasional rips.

But her skin was the most disturbing; it was all bruised and bloody as if someone had beaten her with a bat for hours. Maybe someone had. One side of her head was completely covered by blood. It was more than likely caused by the huge wound on her forehead, but Melinda wouldn't have been surprised if the smaller, but equally nasty looking cuts covering the rest of her face. Melinda couldn't help but feel pity for her.

"I wasn't to help you." Melinda told the ghost. "What's your name?"

The spirit studied her for a moment. "Stacy." she finally said.

Melinda sighed a small sigh of relief. Stacy. Well, it was a start. "Okay, Stacy," she said carefully, "Why are you haunting Professor Eppes?"

Stacy turned the bloody side of her head to Melinda and was silent.

"Look, if you want me to help you, you have to talk to me," Melinda told her.

"Maybe I don't want help. Maybe I'm fine here."

Melinda sighed, this time in light frustration. "There's a better place for you though. Do you really want to stick around here for the rest of eternity?" Stacy faltered at this, so she continued more strongly, "Now, can you tell me why you're still here? Do you remember?"

Stacy disappeared and reappeared on a bench by the door. Melinda strode across the lobby, her heals clicking loudly on the tile floor, and sat down beside Stacy and waited. But instead of a full explanation like she expected, Stacy only said, "Getting my revenge."

Melinda should have been surprised, but surprisingly, she wasn't. Spirits were like that in the beginning, all ominous and creepy. But eventually they fanned out. She kept this in mind as she asked, "What do you mean?"

Stacy glared at her. "I'm here because I want him to know what it was like to be me."

Melinda was still confused. "I don't understand," she admitted. "How did you know Charlie?"

"He was my teacher."

Melinda nodded. At least Stacy was making sense now. She took in Stacy's appearance when she died and asked, "Do you remember how you died?"

The air in the room changed from the dry air conditioner to a suffocating heat that made it hard for Melinda to breathe. There was something sticking damply to her face and she reached up to feel a plastic bag around her head. Fear flooded through her- not her fear, but Stacy's, she told herself. Melinda looked around to find the empty lobby transformed into a muddy ditch. Partially grassed slopes raised up either side of her. And then a sweeping, nauseating pain flooded through her body that made her want to pass out with the force of it.

With a jolt, Melinda emerged from the vision. Stacy was looking at her with eyes that were too wise for her young age. "I was murdered." she said matter-of-factly.

Melinda put a hand to her head to make sure there was no plastic there. She tried to slow her racing heart as she said, "Do you know who did this it you?"

She could feel the anger pulsing from Stacy now and the feeling she had earlier came back, the dizziness stronger than before. The world was spinning around her in sickening turns.

Through this, Melinda saw Stacy disappear form the bench and reappear shortly by the doors of the main conference from. She saw her walk purposefully through the closed doors with ease.

Somehow Melinda stumbled to the doors and slipped inside. Stacy was on the stage now, next to her former professor. She watched, still lightheaded, as the spirit played with his mind. Charlie lost his train of thought, stuttered, and swayed a bit. Melinda opened her mouth to tell Stacy to stop, not caring how many people would look at her, but she couldn't find her voice.

Instead, Stacy stared at her and said with poison in her voice, "He caused my death."

Then she vanished, leaving only Charlie on the stage. At that moment, Charlie stopped mid-sentence, and swayed a little harder, looking positively sick. A few murmurings went around the room. Melinda watched in horror as the professor took a wobbly step backward and collapsed.


	12. Chapter 11: Haunted

I'll probably start to try to update this every week. I need some kind of gameplan. :)

The spellchecker thingy wasn't working right for me, so if there are any mistakes that you can't stand to read, I'm sorry.

Enjoy, and, as always, reviews are as prized as one of those cookies that keep on getting eated.

- Thumper

* * *

**Chapter 11  
**Haunted  
_8:45 PM_

The room had pretty much cleared out by now; there were only a few people still walking around, back and forth. Every once in a while someone would ask him if he was alright. Each time he would assure them he was fine, which wasn't really the truth, but was a hell of a lot easier than telling them he was plain out terrified at what was happening to him.

It was about an hour after Charlie's lecture- or actually about an hour after Charlie had passed out in front of a room full of people. Even now he couldn't believe it happened. He remembered feeling a little faint about halfway through, and then just sick. And then he had woken up hazily with a half of a dozen paramedics in his face. He was feeling fine now, but his nerves were completely shot. Between this and the incident Friday, Charlie didn't know what to do.

He found himself sitting on one of the benches in the lobby, hunched over, elbows on his knees. Someone had given him a bottle of water and he rolled it between his hands, grateful for the coolness of it, grateful he had something else to think about.

There was a light sound above him and Charlie looked up to see a familiar looking woman standing a couple of feet away from him. His foggy mind took a moment to remember where he had seen her before. And then he remembered; she was the one from the hospital, the one that had seen him run off the road.

"Hi," she started. "I don't know if you remember me. I'm Melinda Gordon. From the hospital?"

Charlie nodded, "Yes. I remember." It wasn't every day he was asked by a stranger if he had any recently deceased relatives. A faint thought formed that maybe she was following him.

She smiled a small smile. "You probably don't want to talk to me, especially now, but I have something to tell you. Something important."

The urgency in Melinda's voice made Charlie able to focus. He looked at her, a little suspicious, but mostly curious at what she had to say. "What is it?"

"Do you know anyone by the name of Stacy?" Melinda asked, direct, like she did something like this everyday.

Stacy. Charlie's heart skipped a beat at the sound of her name. A fresh wave of guilt washed over him.

Melinda continued when he didn't answer. "She might have been someone you met, or a… a student."

"No, I know who Stacy is." Charlie came back to reality.

"Has she passed away recently?"

There was that question again. Or a version of it. "What… What is this about?" Charlie asked, now really suspicious.

Melinda briefly looked down at her hands and then back up. "I'm sorry. This is really hard to say, so I'll just say it." She took a breath and then quickly she said, "I see ghosts."

Charlie stared at her dumbfounded. He didn't believe what he just heard. He blinked twice and then laughed slightly. She was obviously pulling his leg. No sane person would say something like that.

But Melinda didn't look like she was kidding. She frowned. "I know it's kind of hard to believe."

He raised an eyebrow. "Kind of?"

"You need to believe me." she urged, still looking as serious as a rock. "I've seen Stacy. She's still here. She needs help."

The little bit of humor Charlie saw in this disappeared instantly. He shook his head. "This isn't funny."

"It's not supposed to be."

He sighed. He wasn't in the mood to go through this tonight. "Look, I've seen plenty of so-called 'psychics' come through the FBI." Charlie explained, "And there has always been something they want." He stared at her. "What do you want?"

Melinda looked close to defeat now. "I don't want anything. I just want to try to help you. And Stacy."

"How would you help anyone by telling them you can see their deceased family or friends?" Charlie could feel the anger rising in him now. One of his biggest pet peeves were psychics and their unbelievable beliefs. He stood up. "That's just sick."

If Charlie had thought that would have effected her any, it didn't. It was as if she heard it all before. He wouldn't be surprised if she hadn't. She was delusional. Melinda glanced around the room as if she was expecting someone. Then she sighed and said, "Look, I don't know how exactly Stacy died, or why she's attached to you. All I know is that she's not going to let you live peacefully until you accept that she's here."

"My life is just fine." Charlie told her, setting his jaw and crossing his arms in front of him.

"You've been tired more than usual lately, right?" Melinda asked, seeming more determined to push her nonsense on him, "Maybe strange things have been happening, or things you can't explain."

His mind flickered but only briefly. "Everything has an explanation," Charlie told her and then almost sarcastically, "It's been a pleasure to talk with you."

Melinda watched the young professor as he started for the exit, pulling out Amita's car keys from his pocket as he went. His head whirled with all the events that had happened that night. Stacy Morgan had come back to haunt him. Yeah. Maybe in a horror movie.

Charlie was mulling over the absurdity of it all so much that he didn't even see his brother coming toward him until he put a hand on his shoulder to stop him. Charlie about jumped out of his skin before he realized it was just Don. "Don," he said flustered, "What are you doing here?"

"What do you mean what am I doing here?" he asked, "I'm making sure you're alright."

Charlie stopped for a moment, confused, "How did you know?" The only person he talked to after the lecture was Melinda Gordon.

Don looked surprised. "Are you serious, Buddy? I'm FBI. I know everything."

Charlie didn't find that amusing. "Okay. I'm fine. Now you can go ahead and tell Dad before he has a heart attack or something." He resumed walking to the parking lot, wanting nothing more to just get home.

"Uh-uh" Don followed him and pulled the keys out of Charlie's hand. "I'm driving you home."

Charlie gaped, his hand still open. "You can't be serious. I can drive home."

"Yeah, well, I'm not taking any chances tonight." Don suddenly got serious as he said this.

"I don't believe this," Charlie sighed, defeated, "Don't you have a serial killer to catch?"

Don was starting to get frustrated by his little brother's stubbornness. "Chuck, you passed out not even an hour ago. I think that gives me the privilege to drive." Don studied him, judging his reaction. Charlie looked away. He sighed. "And besides, I've got the whole team stalking down the area Larry and Amita gave us." He threw a cautions but pointed look at him, which Charlie pretended not to notice, "but other than that, there's not much to go on. Yet."

Charlie didn't say anything. He was getting lost in his thoughts again. But it wasn't the normal kind, filled with patterns and variables and anomalies. That hadn't happened for weeks. This time his head swam with rewinds of the events that had happened about a month ago. He could only think of one criminal he had wanted to catch worse than he wanted to catch Parker Rolands. And it killed him that he couldn't.

Charlie felt Don grab his arm again and he let his brother stop him. Don looked him straight in the eyes. "Hey, if you need to talk about anything, you can come to me. You know that, right?" he asked softly.

Charlie gave him a funny look then nodded slightly, remembering their argument the other night. "Yeah. Yeah I know."

Don frowned. "Good," he muttered to himself. "That's great."


	13. Chapter 12: Justice Yet to be Served

Sorry it took so long to get this posted. Haven't been on for a few weeks. :)

So anyway, chapter 13 had to be one of my favorite chapters to write, which kind of scares me a little from all the Charlie whumping. (Ah, poor Charlie. He always gets the butt end of my attacks.) I guess deep inside we're all a little evil. :3

- Thumper

* * *

**Chapter 13  
**Horror Film

"I'm fine," Charlie said for the fifth time that hour, probably the hundredth time that night, and most likely the millionth time that week. "Really, I am."

Amita looked away, back at the old movie that was playing on the TV. "I didn't say anything," she said guiltily.

Charlie turned his head to look at her and forced a smirk to his lips. "But you were thinking it."

"I wasn't…" Amita started and stopped because he was right. "I just… feel like something's wrong."

Charlie studied her, "What do you mean?"

Amita looked him straight in the eyes. There was a look of concern there that made Charlie's heart skip a beat. "I'm worried about you."

He broke her gaze. It felt like he had been here in this conversation before. "You talked to Don." he stated simply.

Amita nodded. "Yes. I talked to Don. But I felt this way before that."

Charlie took her hand in his and kissed it. He put on the most comforting smile he could manage, "You don't have to worry about me," he told her, "You can tell my brother that too."

"It's not that easy though." she said, letting him hold her hand. "I thought you would go back to acting…" Amita searched for the right word, "… normal again after you got over Stacy's death, but you haven't. And this is serious now. I think you should see a doctor."

Charlie looked away from her back to the TV. A black-and-white couple was strolling hand in hand down an old-fashioned street. "I don't think that would help," he said slowly.

"Why not?"

"Because I already have. In the hospital Friday." Charlie informed her.

Amita was obviously surprised. That might have offended him if they were in a different conversation, but they weren't, so it didn't. Amita quickly regained her composure. "And?" she urged.

"And," Charlie waved a hand, "nothing. Everything came up with nothing. There isn't anything wrong with me."

Amita's shoulders bounced in a small silent laugh at that. Charlie could sense the relief washing off of her and that alone made him feel better, feel normal again. For a moment, the fog that clouded his thoughts lifted. It was such a breath of fresh air in the past month that Charlie could laugh with the relief of it.

"That's great," Amita breathed. She curled up next to him and rested her head on his shoulder.

"I heard the most absurd thing tonight though." Charlie said after a moment of watching the movie in silence.

"Mmm?" Amita said in a way of telling him to continue.

"I was told I was haunted."

"As in a ghost, haunted?" she asked.

"Yeah. A woman came up to me and said there was 'a spirit attached to me' or something ominous like that." he scoffed. "Insanity, right? Just another psychic trying to get their fame."

Amita smiled. "You know, some people actually believe they can see spirits, not just lie for the money."

Charlie's eyebrow went up. "Aren't there pills for that?"

"You have to be able to be accessible to ideas of the supernatural," Amita laughed.

Charlie gagged, all joking aside. "You can't possible believe that the soul's of dead people still roam the earth!"

"I didn't say I believed it." Amita confirmed. "I just like to keep my mind open. And horror films are a hobby."

"Horror films are one thing," Charlie chuckled, "There are no such things as ghosts."

Amita sighed. "Larry would be irate with your skepticism."

He smirked. Even Larry had a hard time trying to justify psychic's abilities. He was just going to say as much when he was cut short by the lights. They flickered once, twice, and were still. Charlie and Amita exchanged glances.

"Maybe someone heard us," she whispered, holding back a laugh.

Charlie shook his head. "It's probably just a surge or something."

They watched the movie for a bit longer, grinning at the lame lines. There was only thirty minutes left when the TV began to go fuzzy. Snowy lines raced across the screen, expanding until the whole screen was filled with the black and white fuzz. Charlie narrowed his eyes and untangled himself from the couch and Amita to see what was wrong. He jiggled a couple of wires in the back, and when that didn't help, hit it on the side. The screen turned blue. A numb ache began above his left eye, the same place where he had hit his head in the crash Friday. Only the pain wasn't from the wound; it was more like a headache.

Charlie turned back to Amita, ready to admit defeat and call the able company in the morning. The lights flickered again, rapidly this time fro a whole half minute before going out completely. The room was bathed in an eerie blue light from the television. Amita was halfway off the couch now, looking perfectly perplexed. Charlie raised a hand to stop her from getting up. "It's probably the fuse. I'll get it."

Amita nodded and settled on the couch again, obviously a little startled. Charlie found a flashlight in the dining room and went out to the garage where the fuse box was. He raised a hand to his head and winced as the dull ache became more piercing. It felt like someone was pounding him in the head with something hard and blunt. He tried to ignore it the best he could as he found the fuse box and tried to find something that could have affected the lights.

A scream echoed from inside the house that made his heart almost stop cold. His whole body froze, the flashlight dropping from his hand and bouncing twice on the cement floor. And then heard Amita call his name. "Charlie!"

"Amita!" he called back finally regaining the use of his muscles. He forgot completely about the flashlight in his panic to get back inside the house.

But something weird was happening. The dark rooms Charlie had known all his life began to twist and turn sickeningly in front of him. An overwhelming drowsiness like he had never felt before came over him. It made it hard for him to navigate his way through the blackness of the house.

He managed to stumble his way through the dining room, knocking over a chair painfully as he went. By the time Charlie reached the living room, he was fighting to keep his eyes open. The TV had gone back to snow. The sound of it was too loud, too piercing to be normal. He winced as it reached his ears.

Amita was standing by the couch, a look of pure terror in her eyes. Charlie tried to hurry toward her, but the other side of the room seemed like miles away. He stumbled into a table and tripped, the side of his head making contact with the doorway. He hasped from the pain shooting through his nerves.

He dashed the rest of the way to where Amita was standing. He meant to hold her and calm her down. Instead the floor twisted in a strange angle, and he fell, dragging Amita down with him. They both tumbled into a heap on the couch. "What happened?" he asked, trying to sound urgent. It came out hazy and distant.

"Th-there were footsteps," she spit out sounding close to tears. "I know it sounds crazy, but they were right in front of me. And then something… flew by my head." Amita took a deep shaky breath. When Charlie didn't respond, she searched to see his face in the darkness. "Charlie?"

From far away, Charlie could hear Amita repeating his name. And then he heard her gasp, "Oh my god, you're bleeding!"

As proof of this, something warm and wet slipped into his left eye, making it burn. Charlie couldn't find the energy to wipe it out. He could feel himself growing farther and farther away from everything. Amita's voice became more and more garbled and distant. A panic took over his body at this point and he tried to call out for help, but it was lost somewhere in his throat. He was slipping closer to unconsciousness every second. Everything collided into one; the pain in his head and knee, the dizziness, Amita's faint voice and panic-stricken face. He closed his eyes.

The lights flickered back on, and just as fast as the electricity's speed to the lamp, whatever had come over Charlie was gone. He felt perfectly fine, albeit his throbbing head and knee where he had crashed into the chair and wall. He opened his eyes. Amita was right there above him, looking distraught with worry. They both stared at each other for a long time, as if both mentally asking, "What happened?"

"What is going on down here/" An irritated voice came from the stair well. "It sounds like someone's dying."

Charlie and Amita both scrambled up to a sitting position as Alan came down the stairs. He had come straight from bed; his hair was ruffled and he was wearing a bathrobe. They turned their stares to him from overtop the couch back.

Alan looked from one to the other. He gauged their expressions and his won irritated look changed to nervous concern. He stopped t the base of the stairs. "What happened?"

Charlie exchanged a look with Amita. Where could they even begin to explain?

For the first time, Charlie realized he was sitting on something hard and solid. He reached a hand slowly into the couch and retrieved a hammer. He held it up and looked questioningly at it.

Alan glanced at the hammer and then saw the blood on his youngest son's forehead. "Okay, someone explain to me what happened. And fast."


	14. Chapter 13: Horror Film

Sorry it took so long for me to get this posted. Haven't been on for a few weeks. :)

So anyway, chapter 13 has to be one of my favorite chapters to write, which kinda scares me a little from all the Charlie whumping. (Ah, poor Charlie. He's always gets the butt end of my attacks.)  
I guess deep inside we're all a little evil. 3:)

- ThumperHorror Film

* * *

Chapter 13

"I'm fine," Charlie said for the fifth time that hour, probably the hundredth time that night, and most likely the millionth time that week. "Really, I am."

Amita looked away, back at the old movie that was playing on the TV. "I didn't say anything," she said guiltily.

Charlie turned his head to look at her and forced a smirk to his lips. "But you were thinking it."

"I wasn't…" Amita started and stopped because he was right. "I just… feel like something's wrong."

Charlie studied her, "What do you mean?"

Amita looked him straight in the eyes. There was a look of concern there that made Charlie's heart skip a beat. "I'm worried about you."

He broke her gaze. It felt like he had been here in this conversation before. "You talked to Don." he stated simply.

Amita nodded. "Yes. I talked to Don. But I felt this way before that."

Charlie took her hand in his and kissed it. He put on the most comforting smile he could manage, "You don't have to worry about me," he told her, "You can tell my brother that too."

"It's not that easy though." she said, letting him hold her hand. "I thought you would go back to acting…" Amita searched for the right word, "… normal again after you got over Stacy's death, but you haven't. And this is serious now. I think you should see a doctor."

Charlie looked away from her back to the TV. A black-and-white couple was strolling hand in hand down an old-fashioned street. "I don't think that would help," he said slowly.

"Why not?"

"Because I already have. In the hospital Friday." Charlie informed her.

Amita was obviously surprised. That might have offended him if they were in a different conversation, but they weren't, so it didn't. Amita quickly regained her composure. "And?" she urged.

"And," Charlie waved a hand, "nothing. Everything came up with nothing. There isn't anything wrong with me."

Charlie could sense the relief washing off of her and that alone made him feel better, feel normal again. For a moment, the fog that clouded his thoughts lifted. It was such a breath of fresh air in the past month that Charlie could laugh with the relief of it.

"That's great," Amita breathed. She curled up next to him and rested her head on his shoulder.

"I heard the most absurd thing tonight though." Charlie said after a moment of watching the movie in silence.

"Mmm?" Amita said in a way of telling him to continue.

"I was told I was haunted."

"As in a ghost, haunted?" she asked.

"Yeah. A woman came up to me and said there was 'a spirit attached to me' or something ominous like that." he scoffed. "Insanity, right? Just another psychic trying to get their fame."

Amita smiled. "You know, some people actually believe they can see spirits, not just lie for the money."

Charlie's eyebrow went up. "Aren't there pills for that?"

"You have to be able to be accessible to ideas of the supernatural," Amita laughed.

Charlie gagged, all joking aside. "You can't possible believe that the soul's of dead people still roam the earth!"

"I didn't say I believed it." Amita confirmed. "I just like to keep my mind open. And horror films are a hobby."

"Horror films are one thing," Charlie chuckled, "There are no such things as ghosts."

Amita sighed. "Larry would be irate with your skepticism."

He smirked. Even Larry had a hard time trying to justify psychic's abilities. He was just going to say as much when he was cut short by the lights. They flickered once, twice, and were still. Charlie and Amita exchanged glances.

"Maybe someone heard us," she whispered, holding back a laugh.

Charlie shook his head. "It's probably just a surge or something."

They watched the movie for a bit longer, grinning at the lame lines. There was only thirty minutes left when the TV began to go fuzzy. Snowy lines raced across the screen, expanding until the whole screen was filled with the black and white fuzz. Charlie narrowed his eyes and untangled himself from the couch and Amita to see what was wrong. He jiggled a couple of wires in the back, and when that didn't help, hit it on the side. The screen turned blue. A numb ache began above his left eye, the same place where he had hit his head in the crash Friday. Only the pain wasn't from the wound; it was more like a headache.

Charlie turned back to Amita, ready to admit defeat and call the able company in the morning. The lights flickered again, rapidly this time fro a whole half minute before going out completely. The room was bathed in an eerie blue light from the television. Amita was halfway off the couch now, looking perfectly perplexed. Charlie raised a hand to stop her from getting up. "It's probably the fuse. I'll get it."

Amita nodded and settled on the couch again, obviously a little startled. Charlie found a flashlight in the dining room and went out to the garage where the fuse box was. He raised a hand to his head and winced as the dull ache became more piercing. It felt like someone was pounding him in the head with something hard and blunt. He tried to ignore it the best he could as he found the fuse box and tried to find something that could have affected the lights.

A scream echoed from inside the house that made his heart almost stop cold. His whole body froze, the flashlight dropping from his hand and bouncing twice on the cement floor. And then heard Amita call his name. "Charlie!"

"Amita!" he called back finally regaining the use of his muscles. He forgot completely about the flashlight in his panic to get back inside the house.

But something weird was happening. The dark rooms Charlie had known all his life began to twist and turn sickeningly in front of him. An overwhelming drowsiness like he had never felt before came over him. It made it hard for him to navigate his way through the blackness of the house.

He managed to stumble his way through the dining room, knocking over a chair painfully as he went. By the time Charlie reached the living room, he was fighting to keep his eyes open. The TV had gone back to snow. The sound of it was too loud, too piercing to be normal. He winced as it reached his ears.

Amita was standing by the couch, a look of pure terror in her eyes. Charlie tried to hurry toward her, but the other side of the room seemed like miles away. He stumbled into a table and tripped, the side of his head making contact with the doorway. He hasped from the pain shooting through his nerves.

He dashed the rest of the way to where Amita was standing. He meant to hold her and calm her down. Instead the floor twisted in a strange angle, and he fell, dragging Amita down with him. They both tumbled into a heap on the couch. "What happened?" he asked, trying to sound urgent. It came out hazy and distant.

"Th-there were footsteps," she spit out sounding close to tears. "I know it sounds crazy, but they were right in front of me. And then something… flew by my head." Amita took a deep shaky breath. When Charlie didn't respond, she searched to see his face in the darkness. "Charlie?"

From far away, Charlie could hear Amita repeating his name. And then he heard her gasp, "Oh my god, you're bleeding!"

As proof of this, something warm and wet slipped into his left eye, making it burn. Charlie couldn't find the energy to wipe it out. He could feel himself growing farther and farther away from everything. Amita's voice became more and more garbled and distant. A panic took over his body at this point and he tried to call out for help, but it was lost somewhere in his throat. He was slipping closer to unconsciousness every second. Everything collided into one; the pain in his head and knee, the dizziness, Amita's faint voice and panic-stricken face. He closed his eyes.

The lights flickered back on, and just as fast as the electricity's speed to the lamp, whatever had come over Charlie was gone. He felt perfectly fine, albeit his throbbing head and knee where he had crashed into the chair and wall. He opened his eyes. Amita was right there above him, looking distraught with worry. They both stared at each other for a long time, as if both mentally asking, "What happened?"

"What is going on down here/" An irritated voice came from the stair well. "It sounds like someone's dying."

Charlie and Amita both scrambled up to a sitting position as Alan came down the stairs. He had come straight from bed; his hair was ruffled and he was wearing a bathrobe. They turned their stares to him from overtop the couch back.

Alan looked from one to the other. He gauged their expressions and his won irritated look changed to nervous concern. He stopped t the base of the stairs. "What happened?"

Charlie exchanged a look with Amita. Where could they even begin to explain?

For the first time, Charlie realized he was sitting on something hard and solid. He reached a hand slowly into the couch and retrieved a hammer. He held it up and looked questioningly at it.

Alan glanced at the hammer and then saw the blood on his youngest son's forehead. "Okay, someone explain to me what happened. And fast."


	15. Chapter 14: Seeing is Believing

I think chapter 14 (and a chapter after this) was the chapter I was scratching my head the most and asking myself repeatedly "Does that really make sense?" I hope you think so.

I just want to say thank you (again) to the people who reviewed. I don't know if I would have had the energy to keep updating this if it weren't for you. Thank you!

- Thumper

* * *

**Chapter 14**  
Seeing is Believing

Alan handed an ice pack to Charlie. "I don't understand. There was someone in the house? Just now?"

Charlie took the ice and raised it to his head where he had bashed it on the wall. He must have hit it harder than what he originally thought. Amita swore it was swelling. "Yes. There must have." he said. He picked up the hammer that was now lying on the dining room table. "Where else would this come from?"

Alan took the hammer out of his son's hand. "This is my hammer." he informed him. "I had it with the rest of the tools in the garage."

"But that's impossible. I was in the garage." he winced as Amita pulled a washcloth roughly across his forehead. While he had been stumbling around the house, the wound from a couple of days ago must had come open and started bleeding again.

"Sorry," she murmured.

"Well maybe the burglar went to the garage, grabbed the hammer, turned off the electricity, and left before you ever go there." Alan suggested doubtfully, swinging his arms a little to prove his point. Charlie pried the mysterious hammer out of his father's hands and placed it carefully on the table before he got another head wound. Alan realized what he had been doing and quickly stuffed his hands into his robe pockets. "If there's a burglar at all," he added.

Charlie took the ice off his face in astonishment. "What do you mean, 'if there's a burglar'? Of course there is! A hammer form the garage doesn't just appear in the living room and try to kill Amita." his voice broke on the last part of the sentence and he cleared his throat before continuing, "Someone should call the police. Someone should call Don."

No one moved. Alan and Amita exchanged looks. Charlie looked exasperated. "I don't believe this," he said, "Someone breaks into the house and you don't even want to notify the authorities."

"And tell them what?" Alan asked. "Someone came into the house and moved a hammer and left without taking a thing?" There aren't even any windows broken or doors unlocked."

"Tell them someone tried to assault Amita," Charlie suggested tiredly. He couldn't believe he was even having this conversation. "Tell them someone broke in, shut off the electricity and while I was finding the switch, someone tried to hurt Amita." He looked at them both. "Am I the only one who's getting this?"

After a minute Alan nodded. "No. You're right. I'll call Donny now." He hurried out of the room to make the call.

Charlie watched his father leave and raised the ice back to his face. Amita put the washcloth on the table and picked up the antiseptic. She hardly said a word since the lights came back on. Amita raised the tube, but Charlie caught her hand. "Are you okay?" he asked her gently.

Amita nodded and then smiled and laughed, but without any trace of amusement. "You know it's funny. You're the one who almost passed out and you're asking me if I'm okay."

Charlie paused. That was the only part of the night that didn't fit in. That filling reminded him of earlier that night when he fainted at the lecture, and Friday when he crashed. Only this time it had been stronger. He shook his head, dismissing any preposterous ideas that were creeping up. "I just hit my head too hard on the doorway." he assured her. "Someone tried to attack you with a hammer."

Amita put the antiseptic back on the table. She looked like she was picking her words carefully. "No one attacked me." she said after a few moments.

Charlie looked at her confused. "What?"

She paused. "There was no one in that room with me."

"But you said you heard footsteps." Charlie rubbed her arm.

"Yes. But there was no one in that room with me." Amita pushed more strongly. She sat in the nearest chair, looking absolutely serious.

Charlie just stared at her, perplexed. "So…"

"So, I heard footsteps coming down the stairs, like someone was running," Amita stopped to take a breath, "And then it was like they were right in front of me. But there was no one there. And then the hammer just… flew at me."

Charlie took her hand and rubbed it absently. He knew where this was going now, and honestly, was almost too shocked for words that she even believed it. "Amita," he said softly, "It was dark. He was probably wearing black-"

Amita pulled her hand out of his. "I know what I saw." she urged, "And I didn't see anyone in front of me. Besides, the TV was glowing. The light would have reflected off of him and-"

Charlie shook his head. "You were just thinking of our conversation and your mind imagined that it was a ghost."

Amita sighed. "I knew you wouldn't believe me," she let out a small shaky laugh.

"I believe you were terrified and came up with strange conclusions because you couldn't see anyone." Charlie said carefully. "I don't believe you saw a-"

"Ghost." Amita nodded. She sniffed. "I know. There's no such thing as ghosts."

Charlie studied his fiancée's face. He desperately wanted to prove that she was wrong. That supernatural forces didn't exist. That the world was simple once again. He didn't think he would have to prove it to Amita of all people, but he would prove it none the less.

Amita looked away as Alan came back into the room. "Don said he would be over as fast as he can." he informed them. He stopped suddenly and eyed Charlie suspiciously. The he reached out a hand and fingered the bruise on the side of his son's head.

Charlie let out a small gasp as he hit a tender spot. He pulled away, annoyed. "What?"

"Are you sure you didn't see anyone?" Alan asked.

"No. I don't think so." What had happened in the dark already seemed to be fading from Charlie's memory. He wasn't quite sure what had happened in the state he was in anymore. He shrugged. "I don't know. Why?"

"Because that bruise doesn't look like it came from a wall." he said, his tone going all fatherly. "You and Donny both had enough to these when you were kids. It looks like someone punched you."

Charlie raised the now melted ice instinctively back to his face. "That's ridiculous," he muttered, "I would know if I got punched in the face." Wouldn't he?

Alan shrugged. "What do I know?"

Bright lights shone through the curtains in the other room. "That must be your brother." Alan started and hurried to the door. Charlie stood up to follow him, ready to rehash the story to Don. He made it to the doorway before he looked back. Amita hadn't moved. Charlie retraced his steps back to her.

He took her hands again. "It's going to be alright," he told her, trying to sound convincing. Lately, it had been more than tough to manage.

"I really thought you were dying." she finally said. "And then you just snapped out of it. How do you explain that?"

It wasn't a rhetorical question. It was a question that she really wanted an answer for.

Charlie heard the door open and slam in the foyer and his brother's voice asking what had happened, loud and concerned. "I don't know." he admitted. "But I know it wasn't a ghost."


	16. Chapter 15: Believe Me

The first update of the new year! Enjoy. :D

- Thumper

* * *

**Believe Me  
**Chapter 15

The halls of CalSci were bustling with people as Melinda searched for the math department in the school. She had been in Rockland U to talk to Payne when classes were changing before, and she remembered it being less crowded than this. But then again Los Angeles was definitely a bigger city Grandview.

She pushed her way through the rushing mass of students, feeling as lost as a penguin in the jungle. Of course she had stopped by the main office to get directions on her way in, but as she tried to follow them, Melinda found herself completely and utterly lost in the twists and turns of the school. She was surrounded by doors and people; the same as the last hallway and the hallway before that. And this is why she hated schools.

Melinda stopped on the edge of the hall. Her back was pressed against the wall as close as she could get so she wouldn't interfere with the traffic. She looked left, then right, and then sighed. This was like searching for a needle in a haystack. It would take forever, and Melinda didn't have forever. Jim was waiting or her in the parking lot. He was totally serious about the "not going anywhere alone" plan. Melinda had promised him she would only e a couple of minutes, a quick in and out of the place, and they would be good to go to the next place. She didn't want to break her promise.

Something caught the corner of her eye a few feet down the hall. Melinda looked again. There was a man standing in a doorway. He was short, potbellied, and had thinning gray hair combed over his head in a failed attempt to cover a bald spot. He sported a smart, if old fashioned, suit with a long beige coat. A pair of spectacles adorned his well shaven face. He gave Melinda knowing smile.

Relieved, Melinda hurried over to the man. He crossed his arms tightly across his chest. "Well. I knew you could see me."

Melinda nodded and smiled at the ghost. "Can I ask you a favor?" she asked him, trying to keep the attention of the passing students away from her.

"Of course," the man said in a helpful tone. "It will be the highlight of my day. It get's kind of old around here after fifty years."

Melinda grinned. Fifty years. That was a long time to be wandering the halls of a school. "I'm a little lost. Do you know where Professor Eppes' office is?" she asked.

"Ah, Professor Eppes," he said wistfully, "the current resident of my old office. Brilliant mind, one of the best in the modern world."

"So I've been told." Melinda recalled.

The old professor let her around a few corners and down a few more halls, chatting the whole way. "I stop in on Eppes at times, see my office, whisper a few ideas to him when he's stuck. Of course, he would never begin to accept I was there, even if he could see me."

A sinking feeling came to Melinda's gut at that. "He doesn't believe that kind of stuff easily, does he."

"Of course not. He's a mathematician, filled with facts and numbers. He can only believe what he can prove. I can't say much though. I was the same way when I was alive." the professor sighed.

Melinda nodded grimly. He had just confirmed her fear. "I thought so," she muttered to herself. An idea formed in front of her. "Have you seen a strange ghost around him lately?"

The professor furrowed his brows in thought. "You know, actually I have. A young lady. I've seen her in his classes before. A pity what happened to her."

She agreed. "Do you know why she's haunting Professor Eppes?"

"No. But whatever the reason is, I'm sure it's not worth what she's doing to him."

Melinda stopped suddenly. "What's she been doing?" she asked him.

The professor shook his head sadly. "Horrible things. Messing with his head. Clouding his ability to think. He used to be able to spit out ideas as fast as lightening. But nothing since she's come along." He sighed. "I've tried to talk to her, to make her leave him alone, but she refuses to listen to me."

"Do you know what she wants?" she asked, a sudden hope coming to her. Maybe this would be easier than what Melinda originally thought.

He came to a stop in front of a closed door. "I don't know. She won't speak with me." The professor waved a hand at the door. "Here we are then. Professor Eppes' office."

Melinda smiled at the old man warmly. "Thank you. Is there something I can do for you now?"

"No, I have a good time hanging around here. It's nice to watch the minds of tomorrow learn." He paused, "You know, actually there might be something. I wrote a paper before I died. It's well out of date now, but I want my children to have it. It should be in some old boxes in the attic, if I remember correctly."

"I'll be sure to tell them." Melinda assured him and took down their name and address. The professor's daughter was now residing in Boston. It would be a perfect job to send to Eli.

"Thank you," the professor told her, and strolled down the hall, saying hello to people he passed even though they couldn't see or hear him. Melinda grinned at that. If only every spirit was as forthcoming as he was.

Melinda turned to the door and took a deep breath. She knocked twice and turned the handle. It opened easily. "Professor Eppes?" she called, entering the room. It was quiet and empty.

Melinda silently walked inside and looked around. It was a big office. A cluttered desk stood at the far end. There were a couple of sofas and chairs with a table gathered in the center of the room. A clean chalkboard and dry erase board were positioned next to the opposite wall, and bunches of papers were tacked here and there. It was a nice office, and Melinda couldn't help but wonder how clean it was compared to Professor Payne's.

In the morning, Melinda had planned to come to Charlie's office and tell him what she knew. She had hoped that he would at least listen to what she had to say. At best, Stacy would be there, he would believe her, and they could get this whole thing settled once and for all. At worst, Charlie would get a restraining order against her and Stacy would n ever cross over. And judging by what happened last night and what the spirit professor had said, option one didn't look too promising.

But no one was here. That gave an opportunity to gather more information. Or, as some people might put it, snoop.

Melinda started across the room, brushing her fingers along objects as she passed by. She was searching for something that could have been important to Stacy. Something that would give her another vision. As far as she could tell, Stacy wasn't there. Melinda called out her name a couple of times anyway just in case. There was nothing.

She reached the dry erase board and stopped, reaching out a hand to touch the wooden side. An overwhelming wave of a vision came over her. An image of the dry erase board flashed in front of Melinda. But this time it wasn't clean; there was some sort of graphic organizer-like drawing scrawled in red letters. The names Rolands, Brittany, and Jenny were written in it. Underneath that was lines of what, to her, looked like complex clusters of random numbers, letters, and undecipherable symbols. The only thing Melinda could make form the information before her was it was a complicated mathematical equation. But she _was_ in a mathematician's office.

As fast as the vision came, it was gone, and Melinda was left stupefied at the vagueness of it.

"Excuse me?"

Melinda turned as she heard a voice behind her. A woman stood by the door looking at her. Her features looked familiar, but Melinda couldn't place where she had seen her before. She must not have heard her when she came in. "Can I help you?" the woman asked.

"Yes, actually," Melinda said finding a greeting smile. "I'm looking for Professor Eppes."

"He has a class right now," she informed her, "Did you need something?"

Melinda shook her head. "I just wanted to speak with him. I can come back later."

The woman nodded and crossed the room to the desk to deposit a file of some sort. Melinda didn't move from where she was standing. It was a long shot, but she decided to go out on a limb. "Do you work with Professor Eppes?" she asked.

"Yes. We're also engaged," the woman added as an afterthought.

It took Melinda couple of moments to realize she was talking about marriage. "Oh, congratulations." she told her. Now it dawned on her. She had seen her in the hospital last Friday. "My name is Melinda Gordon, by the way."

"Amita Ramanujan." the woman told her. She paused, as if trying to find the right words. "You're the person who can see ghosts." Amita finally said. It wasn't that much of a question as of a statement.

Melinda could see where this was going. She nodded, holding back a sigh. "And you think I'm crazy too."

"No. I don't think you're crazy." Amita disagreed. Melinda noted a tone that sounded like disbelief. As if she couldn't believe she didn't think she was crazy.

"What do you mean?" A small shred of hope planted itself inside her. Maybe if she could get through to Charlie's fiancée, then maybe she could get through to him.

"I don't know. If this was last week I probably would've though you were, well, crazy." She gave Melinda an apologetic smile. "But now…"

Amita trailed off. Melinda waited. "I think I saw something the other night. Well, not really saw, more…" she searched for the right words but gave up. "I think you're right," she finally said. "I think that there's something, or someone, around Charlie and me."

Melinda could hardly believe what she was hearing. For some reason she never expected anyone here to even begin to believe her. Now that she had met someone, she had to take a second for it to sink in. "You believe me?" Melinda had to ask, more than surprised.

"I suppose I do." Amita sighed. "I just want everything to be normal again."

"I know what that feels like." Melinda told her whole-heartedly. "Trust me. I can help you."

Although this was such a shock, she had been prepared for something like this. Melinda reached into her purse and pulled out a slip of paper with her name and cell number on it. She handed it to Amita. I'm kind of in a hurry now," she told the other woman, thinking of Jim waiting in the rental "but I want to talk with you. I'm going to be in Los Angeles for the next couple of days. Call me when you have free time or something."

Amita took the paper and nodded. "I'll do that." she assured Melinda.

Something like a huge weight felt like it lifted off Melinda's shoulders. She felt like she had jumped straight over an obstacle and was that much closer to getting this whole thing figured out. She couldn't help but give Amita a smile of relief for her helpfulness. "Thank you for listening to me," Melinda said goodbye, and left, passing Charlie on the way without even knowing it.

Amita tucked the phone number into her pocket, not sure she believed what she just did. She never would have thought she could be able to let go of all the science she believed in in just one night. However, she knew what she saw- or what she didn't see actually. That was proof enough for her.

She didn't look up until Charlie spoke. He was only a couple of feet inside the doorway, halfway looking over his shoulder, a slightly puzzled look on his face. "Was someone just here?" he asked.

"Yeah, Melinda Gordon." Amita told him.

"Are you serious?" Charlie said, exasperated. "I though she would have taken a hint when I told her what she did was sick."

Amita was silent as he crossed the room to where she was standing. "I know you only believe in things you can prove," she finally spoke, "but have you ever thought that just maybe there is something that can't be proven with modern science?"

Charlie stopped and looked at her for a moment. She didn't return his gaze. "I think that we haven't found everything there is to know yet," he said slowly, carefully, knowing exactly what Amita was talking abut. She _had _met Melinda Gordon. "But I think that there are some things that we'll never find proof for."

Amita turned away so he wouldn't see her face fall a little. How would she ever get him to believe what she saw? She gathered her stuff up for her next classes, feeling Charlie's gaze never leave her as she did so. Finally Amita looked at him. She couldn't quite read his expression s, somewhere between concern and sympathy. "Maybe you're wrong," she told him and walked out of the room.

He watched her storm out, obviously frustrated. Charlie didn't lame her; she just wanted answers and none were coming. Except for Melinda Gordon.

Charlie's mouth set into a grim line of determination. He knew what he had to do.


	17. Chapter 16: Too Good To Be True

Well. I've kind of run out of things to say here. :) Enjoy chapter 16! It's another fed one!

- ThumperToo Good To Be True

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Chapter 16

It was an unusually cloudy day for Los Angeles. The forecast had called for endless sun all week, but today, the clouds gathered in dark bunches that blotted over the sun and looked as if they could burst open any moment to soak the earth. Colby was slowly losing faith in meteorologists.

He took one last glance at the unpredictable sky before turning the car off and getting out. Liz stepped out form the other side as he rounded the front of the car. She had noticed his looks at the clouds and grinned, not going to miss the chance to poke fun at her co-worker. "What's the matter Granger? Afraid your new shoes will get wet?"

Colby gave her a small grin and pulled on a pair of latex gloves, "Kinda," he admitted, "I just really hate rain. Besides," he gave a glance at the house in front of them, "it makes this all seem even gloomier."

They almost had him this morning. Six long months of chasing Parker Rolands was almost over a couple of hours ago. It had almost come to an end. Almost.

It turned out patrolling the area Amita and Larry gave Saturday night hadn't been the best idea in the world after all. Colby, Nikki, David, and Liz found nothing that could lead the anywhere to where Rolands was hiding out. And then this morning, they learned that Rolands had packed up and moved yet again, again probably erasing any clues they had this far. Colby wasn't surprised that this had happened, but there really wasn't much else for the FBI to do. There were no leads, nothing that even gave them a hint to where he and Emily were. That is, hopefully, until now.

Around four thirty this morning, the FBI got a call form a terrified woman saying that Parker Rolands was across the street, packing quickly into the car with Emily Harrison and driving off. A couple of agents arrived at the scene a few minutes later, but by then it was too late. He had already left. They tried to track the car down, but early morning traffic in LA is still heavy. It wasn't long before they lost his trail and Rolands became dust in the wind again.

Liz's teasing smile quickly faded as she and Colby approached the house ahead. "At least we know the direction he's headed and where he was. That should be helpful for Charlie-" she stopped, "or Amita, or whoever the hell is working on this."

The two agents reached the small house. It wasn't pretty; the grass was overgrown in the yard, the siding needed cleaning, and the shutters were in dire need of repair. It looked as if no one had lived here in a few years.

David greeted them at the sidewalk. "Hey man, have we found anything?" Colby asked him.

"Don and Nikki are inside right now," David informed the two. "I'm about ready to interview the neighbor."

"Do you think she can tell us anything we don't know already?" Liz wondered doubtfully.

David shrugged. "It can't hurt, can it?"

The three of them made their way to where the neighbor was standing at the edge of the lawn. She was a short woman, in her mid forties and her forehead was lined with wrinkles. She had her arms crossed across her chest defensively, looking irritated, but Colby could tell she was shaken by the events that happened just across the street from where she lived. "Mrs. Fulton?" David greeted her.

"Callie." she said.

"Callie," David amended, "I'm Special Agent David Sinclair and these are Agents Granger and Warner. We want to ask you a few questions."

Callie let out a small sight. "Well, I knew it was going to happen sometime. What do you want to know?"

"Everything that happened this morning." David told her.

Callie scuffed a boot against the concrete of the sidewalk as she tried to figure out where to start in her head. "Maisie woke me up about four twenty this morning."

The three agents exchanged a look of confusion. Callie Fulton didn't let it go unnoticed. "My cat." she explained, shaking her head, "She wanted to be fed. So I got up and went to the kitchen. While I was opening a can, I heard a noise outside, looked, and saw across the street a man with that kidnapped girl, Emily Harrison."

"And you're sure it was Emily Harrison you saw?" Liz asked.

Callie raised her eyebrows at her, "Her picture has been everywhere I look. She went- goes- to my church every Sunday. Plus, the wind was hard last night and blew the hood of her sweatshirt down so I could see a clear shot of her face. Yes. I'm sure."

Liz raised her hands defensively at the witness' snappy answer. "Okay. But it was dark. Can you positively be sure that it was Emily?"

"Yes. I can even sign a paper or whatnot if you need it," she said more calmly. "I might be getting older but my eyesight is still fine. I know what I saw."

"Did you get a good look at the man too?" asked Colby.

Callie shook her head regretfully. "Not as good. He was moving pretty quickly. But his hair was like a reddish-brown and he had a lot of scruff on his chin. He was maybe six foot."

David nodded. "Does anyone own this house?"

"No," Callie sighed, "the previous owners moved a couple of years ago and, as far as I know, no one's owned it since then." She took a long glance at the house that now had police cars and yellow tape surrounding it. "I didn't even know there was someone right across the street from me."

David, Colby, and Liz thanked Callie Fulton for her time and started for the house. "At least we have an up-to-date description of the guy." Liz tried to look bright.

Colby sighed, "Yeah. If he hasn't changed that already too."

"Man, what is with you today?" Liz punched his arm playfully. "You're all doom and gloom all of a sudden!"

He shrugged. "I don't know. I'm just tired of Rolands getting away with everything." He gave a small grin as they entered the house. "And the clouds."

Liz returned the grin. "Oh right. New shoes."

Nikki, who was coming around the corner of the foyer when Liz spoke, raised an eyebrow quizzically. David waved her off with a quick flick of the wrist. "Yeah, I don't get it either," he said.

"We found something," Nikki informed them and gestured for them to follow her.

She led them down a hallway with five doors, all of them thrown wide open. Every room looked disheveled, like someone had been hurrying in and out and searching for something. The whole house had been searched already by FBI agents, but this had clearly been done by the previous occupants. Rolands had been in a hurry; that much Colby already knew. He must have gotten scared when he saw the same unmarked police car pass the house again and again, and fled.

They entered the second door to the left. It was a bedroom: there was a full sized bed against one wall, a nightstand with a lamp, and an open closet that had only a scattering of things. The whole house looked pretty empty furniture wise, but if you were jumping from house to house every couple of days, you wouldn't be carrying much furniture either.

Don was standing over a laptop on a small fold-away table. He was pressing a button with a gloved finger and looked up as they came in. "Hey guys. Come look at this." He moved out of the way so they could gather around the computer screen.

It was a real-estate webpage. Actually, it was the archive page to a real-estate website. Looking closer, Colby could see it was the page advertising the house they were standing in now.

"Rolands had it bookmarked on his computer," Don informed them, "There was also this one-"

He pulled up a page of the house they believed he had been in with Stacy Morgan, "and this one."

Colby stared closely at the tiny picture. "Okay, I'll bite," he said after a moment, "When was Rolands in that house?"

"That's the point, I don't think he's been in this house yet," Don said, "It was the newest bookmark he had. There are others too."

Liz looked curious. "Others?"

Don nodded. "Thirty in total. Some are places we know he's been and some are like this one. I guess he's been planning on where to go before he leaves for the next place."

"So he house shops for long abandoned buildings on the Internet?" asked Liz, somewhat astounded.

"Wait, wait," David raised a hand, "back up. Why did Rolands even leave his computer here?"

"He was in a hurry." Nikki provided matter-of-factly.

"But if you were running away from the police, you would want to take the thing with the most evidence." Liz said, "And that would be the computer."

"When we got here, this was the only door in the house that was closed, including the front door," Don added, "It was like he didn't even come in here. Nothing looked to be touched."

David looked totally perplexed. "That just doesn't make any sense."

Don nodded in agreement and went back to the laptop. "He also bookmarked this for us." This website was set up for Black Market operations. No doubt it was where he got his illegal documents for his new identities. These kinds of sites were usually securely hidden behind numerous firewalls and codes. It would have taken them months to find this website if Rolands hadn't neatly laid it out for them. It made his reason for leaving his computer behind even more baffling.

"Hold on," David paused, sorting out a thought, "If Rolands doesn't have his computer, he can't order any more fake documents."

Nikki nodded, picking up on David's idea. "Yeah, so, he'll have to stick with the same identity he has now. And if we can find out what that is, we can track him down."

Don grinned as he watched his team work. "Now that's how things should happen. We can bring this to Amita so she can track the last order he made."

"Can it really be that easy?" Nikki asked to no one. "Six months of chasing him, and it's that easy?"

Liz nodded in agreement. "Seems kinda too good to be true, doesn't it?"

Don put a hand on the lid to close the computer. Before he could though, the screen flickered to something else. Don stopped and stared at the new page. The rest of the team did too. The computer now showed an e-mail page on the Drafts folder.

Colby looked form the screen to Don. "Did you do that?" he asked.

Don shook his head with a puzzled expression plastered on his face. "No."

The five agents leaned in simultaneously to get a closer look at the screen. There was a list of e-mails that Rolands had sent out at some time, most of them to some illegal action.

Liz squinted and pointed to an e-mail near the top of the page. "Hey, isn't that Charlie's e-mail address?"

It was like Don froze as he followed Liz's pointing and quickly scanned the address. "Yeah. Yeah it is. For CalSci." Unconsciously, he tapped the link with the pad to open it. His mind was hitting overload as he wondered what Rolands had sent to his brother. And why his brother had kept it form him.

As it turned out, it was a short but confusing message. There were a couple of lines of numbers and under that a simple uncapitolized four-letter word: _help. _At the bottom were two letters, and s and an m. Stacy Morgan.

"Oh my God," Liz gasped, "She was trying to contact him."

Don still didn't fully understand, even though it helped his subconscious to know it wasn't form the killer. "Why didn't he show this to us?" he asked irritably.

"Because he never got it." Colby answered.

Four pairs of eyes turned to him.

Colby continued, "Rolands had a higher security system set up on his laptop. There's a system that has a password you have to type in to actually send a message out, kind of like and extra barrier to make sure he knows exactly what's going in and out of his computer." He pointed to the symbol on the bottom of the screen. "That symbol means it was sent, but never had a password typed in, so it wasn't fully sent at all."

Nikki gave him an approving look. "Who would have guessed Colby Granger had a computer geek side."

"So this was never sent at all," Don confirmed.

Colby shook his head. "Stacy probably closed out of it right away and the message automatically saved to Drafts."

"Do you think we should take this to Charlie to see if it can be decoded into something useful to us now?" David asked.

"No," Don said a little too quickly. All of a sudden he was the one with four pairs of eyes trained on. "I mean, yeah, it needs to be decoded, but bring it to Larry or something. Charlie's been beating himself up about this pretty bad anyway."

"So," Colby began, "you're telling us not to tell Charlie about this," He wasn't sure he followed Don's reasoning all the way.

Don nodded after a moment. "Right. For now anyway." He shut the screen with a hand and handed it to Nikki who had an evidence bag at the ready. "The documents seem to be the most important thing. We can start searching through the houses after Amita's done tracking the Black market orders. Then see what they can do about the e-mail."


	18. Chapter 17: Words of Advice

Well folks, this is a milestone chapter. First of all this is the point where I feel like it starts the beginning of the end. This makes me unimaginablly happy since it is my first story I've ever gotten close to ending (seriously, I have like two chapters to write yet and I can declare success!). Also it FINALLY starts revealing everything thats going on with the plot.

And it's a Charlie&LarryMoment chapter. What's not to love those times?

There's a reference to some things that were talked about in Pilot and Uncertainty Principle in Numb3rs. If you haven't seen those two episodes then you might not understand a few things.

As always, I know I could use some improvement, so please send some feedback my way. I hope you like it.

- Thumper

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**Chapter 17**  
Words of Advice

Charlie sat back and studied his work. It wasn't that much, but the little he had made him grimace and rub his forehead absently as another headache began to thump its way into existence.

Something was wrong, and a lot was missing. This much Charlie knew. But for some reason he couldn't put his finger on just what it was. It was like a gnat; flying around his head but moving just out of reach when he tried to grab at it. It put Charlie in a frustrated mood and made him tiresome and grouchy. Today wasn't going the way he would have liked it.

Don had found nothing last night that had supported the theory of an intruder: the doors were all locked, no windows even had a scratch on them, and everything was as everything should be. It didn't make any sense, but it was just another thing to add on the list of things that didn't make any sense.

Don had been frustrated but relieved when they got done searching and checking the house over. "Are you absolutely positive someone was here?" he had asked, annoyance clear in his voice. Charlie really didn't blame him for being ticked off. No doubt Don had been trying to make a breakthrough on the Rolands case when his father had pulled him away fro something that might have not even happened.

"Yes," Charlie had told him, but now even he had doubt creeping into his voice. So he had cleared his throat and said, "Yes," again with more sureness.

After that, Don had told them there was nothing that could be done, since they couldn't report anything stolen or broken into. More that once Charlie wondered if he didn't dream the whole thing. But then he would look at Amita and realize it was real.

And so now here he was trying to prove what should already be common knowledge. But more importantly he was trying to prove he wasn't crazy and Amita was jumping to wild conclusions. And so far it wasn't coming out well.

He looked up as Larry wandered into the room but let his gaze slide back to the board. Larry stopped a few steps in from the doorway when he saw what Charlie was doing. "I see Professor Eppes has been reunited with the chalkboard at last," he observed.

Charlie offered him a small twitch of his lips as Larry came to stand beside him and examine his work. It was only a moment later when Larry said, in noticeable surprise, "This isn't for Don?"

"No," Charlie confirmed a little hesitantly.

Larry leaned against a nearby table and studied the lines on the blackboard. "Charlie, could you enlighten me on what you are trying to prove here, because honestly I'm stumped."

Charlie twisted the piece of chalk in his hands. "Amita thinks she saw a ghost last night." he finally said. He almost couldn't believe the words that came out of his mouth. Everything about this felt so weird to him. Out of the peripheral of his vision, he saw Larry whip his attention to him.

"A ghost?" Larry repeated. "As in, a paranormal being from the spirit of the deceased?"

Charlie nodded.

"Well, why? What did she see that would suddenly make her believe in ghosts?"

Charlie leaned back in the chair and focused on the chalk in his hands as he retold the story of the past night again. He let Larry absorb all of it for a few minutes while he tried to push away the feeling of repetiveness.

Larry glanced at the chalkboard once more. "Hmm, and now you're trying to prove that spirits don't exist."

The tone of his voice made Charlie raise his gaze to look at him. "Am I sensing distaste?" he asked.

"No, no," Larry rubbed his chin in thought, "It's just that I think you're going down an unending path."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean there's a reason why every medium and paranormal investigator hasn't been debunked years ago." He walked over and collapsed into one of the chairs before continuing. "So far no scientist has been able to prove that ghosts do or do not exist."

Charlie thought about that for a moment. He knew he was right. Actually, he knew that all along even before he started on this project. "No one has found a solution to P Versus N.P., but that hasn't stopped people from trying," he pointed out.

Larry nodded, "Very true," he agreed, "but also like P Versus N.P., most people have accepted that no answer is ever going toe exist."

Charlie sighed and rubbed his eyes. "I just…" he started, "I just don't understand how Amita can completely believe in science one day, and then, in the blink of an eye, give up everything she's ever known for this."

"Well Charles, the human mind is a curious thing. A person might see, hear, or experience something that can completely change their whole life around." Larry said, "And it sounds like that's exactly what happened to Amita."

Charlie looked away. That statement left a pang in his chest that he tried to ignore. What Larry said seemed to bother him more than he thought it should.

"So the bottom line," Larry continued, "is Amita has found a new- if irrational," he added when Charlie gave him a look, "belief and you think she's completely lost her hold on reality."

Charlie stood up and started pacing the floor. He suddenly felt an overwhelming need to move. "I don't think she's crazy," he told him, "I think she's… misguided."

Larry raised his eyebrows, "Misguided?"

"Yeah," Charlie stopped in front of his desk and leaned against it. "She was talking to Melinda Gordon this afternoon."

"Isn't she the one who was asking strange questions Friday night?" Larry asked.

Charlie nodded. "Last night she tried to convince me I was being haunted by-" he stopped suddenly. Larry looked at him, waiting expectantly. So he cleared his throat and started again. "She tried to convince me Stacy Morgan is haunting me."

It was very quiet for a few moments. Larry seemed lost in thought. "This is very coincidental," he murmured, "very coincidental indeed.

"Oh man," Charlie groaned, "not you too."

Larry raised his hands in front of him defensively, "I didn't say I agreed with her. But even you have to admit how strange the timing is. It's very ironic."

"Yeah, ironic," Charlie muttered. He looked back at the chalkboard with the weak lines of theory on it. They seemed to blur in front of his eyes for a moment so he blinked twice and looked away.

Larry was shaking his head with disbelief. "I cannot even begin to fathom this." he said. "Even if the supernatural does exist, why would a sweet, brilliant girl like Stacy want to come back to this world anyway?"

A not-so-strange feeling rose in the pit of Charlie's stomach. He stared at a fixed point in the back of the office and answered bitterly, "Because I killed her."

Larry looked up at his friend, broken out of his thoughts. He sighed. "See, this is your problem, Charlie, you have to move on. You can't focus on one mistake you made for the rest of your life."

Charlie tore his gaze away to meet Larry's. "But it wasn't just a mistake. It cost Stacy her life." he looked down at this hands. "She didn't deserve to die."

"That seems to be the same with everyone," Larry agreed absently. "But the point, Charles, is that you can't be killing yourself for this forever. Honestly, it was all of us that agreed on 27 Makey Street. We're all to blame, really. It just happens like that sometimes."

Charlie sighed, a hint of frustration coming through. "I know," he told him. There were plenty of cases that he had worked on before that one of the victims had gotten killed before anyone found an answer. "I know. But I forced Don to go to that house. He was positive that it was the one a block over. And he was right." He paused, swallowed, and blinked, "And I made him pass it up to break in the wrong house and ruin a family's meal." Charlie gave a small humorless laugh.

"And now you don't trust the work you do for Don." Larry concluded matter-of-factly.

Charlie was silent. He didn't mention how his mind fogged up every time he started on something, but Larry pretty much hit the nail on the head already whether Charlie wanted to admit it or not.

Larry took his silence for a conferment. "You know, I knew there was something more to this whole thing." he added.

Charlie didn't raise his gaze as he said, "I don't think I can help the FBI anymore. I mean, what if next time I get someone else killed? What if next time I get my brother killed?"

Larry nodded at this and stretched in the chair. "I think you've been facing this problem since day one. You've always been too concerned about the consequences and things that could go wrong." He ignored the look Charlie shot at him. "That was part of the reason why I didn't approve of you helping your brother at first." He was silent for several moments before asking, "Do you remember the first case you helped the FBI with and I mentioned the story of Evariste Galois?"

"Yes," Charlie told him. Half of him wanted to ask where he was going with this and half wanted to add that he had still been good at avoiding duels.

"I think it still applies." Larry stood up and crossed the room to examine a photograph on the opposite wall. "The meaning has changed, but it still applies."

A huge silence fell over the room as Charlie thought over what Larry had said. The clock on the wall was almost deafening as it ticked by the seconds that passed. Finally Charlie spoke. "So what do I do?" he asked.

"About what?" Larry said, "Self-trust or Amita?"

Charlie thought about it for a moment before answering, "Both."

"Well," Larry started, "More times than naught people die in the crime world. It's a hard path to go down, but speaking form experience, you seem lost without it. I guess you just have to accept that things go wrong but believe you're making a difference for the better." Larry paused as he studied the picture a bit closer. "As for Amita…" he trailed off. "You know, early explorers like Ponce De Leon, John Cabot, and even Magellan spent years searching for places and things without ever finding what they were looking fore."

Charlie stared hat him for a number of seconds, waiting for him to go on. When it was apparent that Larry wasn't going to continue, he rubbed his eyes tiredly. He was in no mood for one of Larry's random stories. "Does this story have a moral, Larry?" he pushed.

"The thing is these people spent their whole lives searching for something that may or may not have existed, but they did it simply because they believed in it."

"And they were getting paid." Charlie added.

"Well sure, but you're missing my point, Charles," Larry said, "If people believe in something strong enough, they'll follow it no matter what."

Charlie thought about that for a minute. "I'm confused. Are you talking about Amita or Melinda Gordon now?"

Larry shrugged. "Take your pick. But what I'm saying is all Amita wants is answers. And also spoken from experience, you can't change someone's beliefs."

"But you can influence them," Charlie said.

"That you very well can." Larry agreed. "But sometimes it's better to wait and see what happens."

Charlie sighed. "That advice sucks." he told his friend.

"Eh, it's my break," Larry shrugged as way of apology. He moved to the doorway and gave him a knowing look. "Take it or leave it. But I can't force you to follow it." At that he waved and left, walking down the hallway.

Charlie was left alone to mull over all of what Larry had told him. He looked back at his work that seemed to almost glow against the black chalkboard, deep in thought. Finally, he gave a small sigh and erased the whole thing.


	19. Chapter 18: The Whole Story

Sorry about all the talking chapters. I was starting to feel a little tired writing them too. But action comes this way, I promise you.

Thanks for reading.

- Thumper

* * *

**Chapter 18**  
The Whole Story

Melinda surveyed the bustle of the school campus in the bright late morning sunshine. She sighed, looked down at her watch, and returned her gaze to the bustle in the bright sunshine.

She had gotten the call at around nine twenty-two that morning, when she had been awake for precisely three minutes. Amita had apologized for such an early call and asked if they could talk that morning. Melinda was again surprised by this; when she gave Amita her card, she never expected she would actually call her.

Melinda left Jim a note to explain where she went to so early, because he was in the shower and she was in a hurry. She knew he'd understand at least this once if she broke the "nowhere alone" rule. This was important. It might mean she could cross Stacy over after all.

The hotel they were at was only a couple of miles away from the school, so instead of taking the rental, she decided to walk to CalSci. She picked up a couple of coffees from a small café as she went. About halfway there, Melinda was sure of three things: Los Angeles was beautiful on Tuesday mornings, the coffee was more bitter than it was back home in Grandview, and almost no one walked anywhere in this city. The streets were jam packed with cars, but there was little traffic on the sidewalks. Melinda couldn't understand it.

Now she had been sitting on a bench outside the college for about twenty minutes, ten minutes more that she had thought she would have to wait. Jim had already called once, a little irritated, but overall understanding of her early escapade, asking her to try not to be gone too long. But so far, that was the only excitement Melinda had had that morning.

Finally, Melinda saw Amita walking toward her. She stood up and greeted her, handing her the extra coffee she had bought. "I find it's easier to talk to someone with coffee," she told her with a smile when Amita looked surprised. "I hope it's not too cold."

Amita took the cup from her hands, "Thanks for meeting me," she told her.

"No problem," Melinda smiled as they sat back down.

They took a few seconds in silence, sipping on their coffee. Then Melinda said, "So first of all, can you tell me what you saw that made you believe me?"

Amita recounted the events of Sunday night. She told Melinda how the lights went out, the footsteps, and the hammer. She also told her how sure Charlie was that someone had broken in and how unyielding he still was of it.

Melinda listened to all of this in silence nodding here and there. When Amita was one, she asked, "Did you know anyone named Stacy Morgan?"

"Stacy Morgan," Amita repeated in a tone that sounded like she expected it.

"So you did know her?"

Amita nodded. "Yeah. She was a student here before… She was such a sweet girl and a good student. Very smart too." she stopped and gave Melinda a peculiar expression, "Have you… I mean, did…"

"I see her?" Melinda finished. She nodded her head. "Yes. I saw her with Charlie Friday night, and then Sunday at the speech. She hasn't appeared to me ever since though."

Melinda watched as Amita blinked a couple of times and shook her head as she tried to process this information. Melinda knew it was more than herd to believe the first time and waited patiently for her to clear her head. After a little while, Amita said, "Why is she here? With Charlie, I mean?"

"That's what I'm trying to figure out," Melinda told her. It was pretty obvious her murder was the biggest part of it. "Stacy did tell me that Charlie was her teacher," she added.

"Yeah, she was majoring in mathematics and went to Charlie a lot for help. He always loved working with her," Amita told her. "She was genius-level smart, you know? I think he always saw a bit of himself in students like that."

They watched the people walk to and fro for a little while, no one talking. "I'm sorry," Amita finally said. "I feel way out of my zone talking about this."

"It's normal," Melinda assured her.

Amita nodded. "Did Stacy tell you anything else?" she asked after a couple of seconds.

Melinda hesitated. She wasn't sure how to word this. "She's angry," she said simply, "She said she wanted to get revenge and have Charlie know what it was like to be her."

"I don't understand," Amita said slowly, watching her closely.

Melinda gave her a small grin. "Actually, I was kind of hoping you would know what she meant."

Amita sighed. "So we're back to square one then?"

Melinda didn't answer. Instead she asked, "Can you tell me everything that happened when Stacy got kidnapped? Or is that confidential?"

"I don't think it is." Amita shrugged. "Do you think it will help?"

Melinda nodded. "It's better if I get the whole story to work with."

"The whole story," Amita repeated softly. She cleared her throat once before beginning. "The team had been working on the same case for a couple of weeks before Stacy went missing. We'd pretty much exhausted every lead and theory by that time, and when she did go missing there still wasn't much to go on.

"We finally were able to find the guy's current name, and through some light profiling and analysis' we found a general location to where he could be." Amita paused and gave Melinda a quick look. "Just stop me if it gets too confusing."

Melinda waved a hand, "No, I'm fine. Go one. Please."

Amita nodded and continued. "So our analysis came out to one specific house that Stacy might have been being held in. But then Charlie's brother, Don, was positive that it was a house a couple of blocks away from the one we came up with." She took another sip of her coffee and looked out at the crows. She sighed, "Charlie was so confident in his work, and Don was so sure the team had the right house. They fought, and finally Charlie convinced him the analysis was right." Amita paused and gave Melinda a grim look. "They broke into a house of a family with two kids having dinner."

"Oh, that's horrible," Melinda breathed. She couldn't imagine how scared the children must have been when men with guns broke down their front door.

Amita nodded and looked at her coffee cup. "They tried to rush to the house that Don had come too, but there was no one there. But there was evidence that Stacy had been there. They must have rushed out when he heard the sirens."

Melinda sighed a small sad sigh. "That close," she murmured. "What did Charlie do when he found out?"

Amita grimaced a little. "He beat himself up about it, naturally," she said. "And since Stacy was one of his best students, he took it harder than normal. But it just made him more determined to find her.

There was a soft but deep rumble. Melinda looked up to see dark clouds gathering in the west. It looked like it would rain again this afternoon. She returned her gaze to Amita and hoped reverently that it would hold off for a long while. "So what did he do?" she asked her.

"He went into this overdrive mode," Amita sighed. "He worked all night, not even bothering to eat or sleep. He was that determined to find Stacy. He only stopped when Don called to tell him they found Stacy's body in Marshall Tanner Park. It was only a few days after that when his headaches started."

Melinda perked up. "Headaches?" she asked.

Amita gave her a curious look. "Yeah. Charlie's been having them a lot lately."

Melinda nodded thoughtfully. "Anything else?"

"Um, I don't know," she told her suspiciously. "He's been constantly tired and unfocused- I'm sorry, do you think Stacy is somehow doing this?"

Melinda nodded again. "Sometimes spirits can channel their emotions or what they were feeling before they died into someone else." she informed her.

Amita rubbed her forehead, "This is getting too weird," she murmured absently.

There was a long silence between them. Melinda thought over this new information, and things were finally starting to come together. But there still were a few things that didn't make sense. "Do you know any other reason why she might be angry with Charlie?"

Amita thought for half a second and shook her head. "No. Honestly, I don't think I've ever seen Stacy angry. She just wasn't that kind of person." She took another sip. "So if Stacy really is… haunting… Charlie then why did she throw a hammer at me?"

"I don't really know. She might have just been trying to get someone's attention."

Amita looked down at her hands for a second then nodded. "So what happens now?"

"Now I need to try to cross her over," Melinda replied, "but there has to be more to her being here than this. I just don't know what yet."

"I'm sorry I couldn't be of more help," Amita apologized. "You were more than you think." The two of them stood up. "If you find out anything else, please call me again. And I'll do the same."

"Deal." Amita agreed.

The two said their goodbyes and Melinda started her walk back to the hotel. Her brain felt filled to the brim with everything that she just learned form Amita, and more than once she realized how lucky she was that she had someone to go to for help. Melinda started to try to piece things together mentally as she walked.

There was a reason why Stacy was hanging on to Charlie. It was weak and most definitely a miscommunication, but it was a start. She had learned today that Stacy was not the kind of person to hold grudges. She still wondered what could have happened to make a girl like her so bitter. Melinda took a few quick glances around the street just in case Stacy was with her. It would be nice to be able to talk to her, but no luck; the streets were empty with ghosts.

The fatigue and inability to focus made sense too. Melinda remembered how she felt at the speech on Sunday night; like someone had slipped something into her drink earlier. She remembered reading in the reports on the internet that a drug was found in her bloodstream. Stacy must be passing that feeling on with her. Headaches might come from certain drugs too.

Melinda stopped walking after a minute. She suddenly got an overwhelming feeling that she could cross Stacy over today. If she could just find her to talk to her and convince her of what really happened, she might have a chance at it. Waving down a cab, Melinda pulled out her cell to tell Jim she'd be a little late.

* * *

Melinda searched the front of the houses and their lawns as the taxi rolled down the street. It was just house after house, most of them looking identical to the one before it. It was surprising how empty the neighborhood felt. But then again, for known kidnappings and murders happened here. She would probably want to go into seclusion too.

Something different appeared in a yard of what looked like an abandoned building. It caught Melinda's gaze and she yelled, "Oh, stop!" to the driver.

Stacy wasn't looking much better. She had her back turned to Melinda, but her clothes were still ripped and dirty, hair still disheveled. Melinda waited for the cab to drive away before talking to her. "Stacy?" she said, "I need to talk to you."

Stacy turned around to face her and instantly Melinda knew something was wrong. Her deep blue eyes were wide with fear as she said, "It's happening again." Then she was gone.

"Wait, Stacy!" Melinda called uselessly. She was already gone.

The door of the house opened and a man stepped out. He had light hair cut short and a hard face. The house wasn't abandoned after all. "What are you doing?" the man asked.

"I'm sorry," Melinda told him. She thought quickly, "I… I lost my dog. I thought maybe she came this way. I'm sorry to bother you." The man still stared at her in a strange way. "Did you see a dog, by chance?" Melinda added with a hopeful smile.

"No," he said. "There's no dog."

"Well maybe if I could just look around the house," she offered and started to move around to the side. A sharp, cold, drop of rain hit her in the cheek as she did so. It appeared that the clouds didn't hold off after all.

When Melinda turned around, a movement caught her eye in the front window. The heavy curtains that were drawn swayed a little and then parted just a few inches. A girl was looking out at her, long dark hair, with something dark blotting her face. With a start, Melinda realized it was blood. She seemed frozen for a minute as reasons flooded through her head. One stood out alone: She had just found Emily Harrison and was talking to the killer.

Melinda turned around to see the man right beside her; a gun now jabbed into her stomach, out of view of any nosy neighbors. He grabbed her cell out of her hand and threw it into the quickly dampening grass. "We're going to walk to the door and go inside quietly," the man whispered in her ear, "alright?"

Melinda nodded. A silent tear escaped from her eye and flowed with the rain as he closed the door behind her.


	20. Chapter 19: Blame Game

Chapter 19 has to be one of my favorite chapters. I know I say that a lot, but it was really fun to write. I hope it's fun to read too.

Reviews are still welcomed!

- Thumper

* * *

**Chapter 19  
**Blame Game

Not one time had Melinda ever got into something as deep as she was in now. Sure, she had been held at gunpoint once, but never had she ever messed with a serial killer. She had never even imagined it, not even when she realized that Stacy had been the victim of a serial killer had she imagined that she would ever meet one face to face. It just seemed like a huge impossibility.

Until one forces you into his house.

He locked the door behind them, Melinda was painfully aware of the gun still jabbing right under her ribcage. She took the millisecond to do a quick look around the small house.

She wasn't sure the man lived here after all. There was scarcely any furniture to be found: she could see the dining room was made up of a tray table and a couple of folding chairs; the tiny front room only had a few boxes and another tray table occupying it. The best piece of furniture there was against the front window; a torn couch that looked like it had spent years in a puppy kennel and then a decade in the attic. But Melinda didn't really notice the couch much. Her eyes caught on the frail girl curled up into a small ball on top of it.

Emily Harrison didn't look bad per say, she looked tortured and terrified. Her clothes were nice, they looked designer and new. Her long dark hair was washed and curled and accessorized with a small flower beret. The only thing that stood out was a small cut on the top of her forehead that was actually hardly bleeding at all. At a closer look though, Melinda could see the dark circles under her eyes and the early forming bruises on her arms and cheeks. And of course there was the fear that would never leave her eyes again.

They had what seemed to be a terrified staring contest, neither one adverting their eyes from the other until the man turned back around. The gun was still in his had and he waved it at Melinda as a sign to stand by Emily. Melinda obeyed silently. He didn't say anything for a few moments, and in the peripheral of her vision, she could see Emily hunkering down more, curling more into herself as if she knew a huge storm was coming. Melinda felt her heart rate increase a little more, if that were possible.

He took a couple of deep breaths and said quietly, calmly to Melinda, "Why are you here?"

Melinda opened her mouth to answer him, but no sound came out. She tried again, still nothing. Panic had taken over her voice.

"Are you with them?" he asked her again after a minute. Every word he said was tipped in poison.

He gave her another minute of silence where all she could squeak out is "I-"

He sighed distractedly. "Are you with the police?"

She shook her head.

The man stared at her a little longer and then lowered the gun. A smile spread over his face and he gave a couple of chuckles. "I shoulda known. You're not the cop type." At that he stuck the gun into the waist of his jeans and turned the corner into the kitchen.

Melinda just stood there not sure what to do. Her eyes wandered to the door. It couldn't have been two feet from where she was standing. It would only take half a second to reach.

"Don't." A small voice came from behind her. She turned to see Emily's hazel eyes boring into hers. "It's locked," she told Melinda in the same hushed tone. At another look, the doorknob had obviously been tampered with. While most doors had a lock that turned, this one was stripped to just the keyhole. Melinda felt a weight drop in her stomach as a piece of hope vanished.

The man came back in the room carrying a beer can in one hand. His free hand kept moving, twitching nervously as he sat down on one of the boxes littering the room. There was a relaxed tone in his face, but his eyes were wide with attentive energy. He motioned for Melinda to sit on the couch next to Emily. Hesitantly, Melinda obliged. "So what's your name, Sweetheart?" he asked her when she sat.

Melinda thought about using a fake name for a moment, but didn't know if there was any point. "Melinda," she finally said.

He nodded and smiled at her cooperativeness. His foot was bouncing now, she noticed. It seemed like this guy just couldn't be still. "You can call me Parker," the man told her. Melinda's heart dropped a little lower. Instantly, she remembered reading the name Parker Rolands on the internet. Somehow knowing his name made her feel sicker that what she already was. She nodded twice and ducked her head at his gaze.

Rolands finished off the can, crumpled it with an almost deafening clink, and stood up again. Melinda watched him as he tossed it on the floor and started pacing, every once in a while brushing a hand nervously through his hair. Then he smiled at her again, a demonic sort of smile, "You just showed up on the wrong day, girl," he told her softly. "If you came by a couple of days ago looking for your-" he paused, raising his eyebrows suspiciously, "-dog, I might have let you go on your merry way."

Melinda didn't say anything, just tried to keep the bile from rising in her throat. Rolands moved over to the door and pulled back the curtain just a tad, but quickly replaced it. "They're looking for me." He continued, "But you probably already knew that. I couldn't have let you go if you worked for them." He repeated, "I couldn't have," to himself a few times., whisper like, It sounded almost like he was trying to convince himself, Melinda thought.

Rolands sat back down on the box for only a second and immediately jumped back up again. "We'll just have to get along with each other for awhile now, right?" A couple of seconds passed before Melinda realized he was actually waiting for a response. "Right?" he repeated, almost yelling this time.

Melinda jumped, "Yes," she told him.

Not showing any emotion, Rolands walked back into the kitchen and then down the hall with another can in his hands. A door closed and then there was silence.

It felt like house before Melinda could be sure of three things: One, Rolands wasn't coming back out for a long while. Two, she had started to shake as her body relaxed al little. She tried to stop, but found she was incapable of it. Lastly, Emily hadn't spoken a word since Rolands came in the room for the first time. In fact, Melinda had forgotten she was sitting not even a foot away from her. She glanced over at the younger girl; Emily was stone still, barely even breathing. She had her knees pulled up to her chin and her wide eyes were studying her toenails. She only glanced up when Melinda looked at her and it was obvious she already had given up. But Melinda hadn't. An idea formed.

Hesitantly and pretty much inaudible, Melinda whispered, "Stacy?" Nothing. She tried again louder, but not loud enough to bring Rolands back. This time she felt Emily's gaze in her shoulder. After a couple of minutes, Melinda sighed quietly when she didn't show.

And then she was there, sitting on one of the other boxes in the room. Melinda was surprised that she didn't feel dizzy and tired like she usually did when they were this close. Her expression was also surprising. Stacy's face was drawn with hard lines of regret. "I think I've made a horrible mistake," she told Melinda.

"What do you mean?" Melinda asked her. Now she could feel Emily's confusion all the way from where she was. She decided she would explain to her later.

Stacy scrunched up her nose in thought. "I… I don't know…" she admitted. "Something's wrong."

Melinda nodded as more information began to fall into place. Stacy was only confused, and most likely had the events of her death turned around. For a second, she began to see the light at the end of the tunnel. "Stacy, do you know what happened?"

"Who are you talking to?" Emily asked in a scared voice. Probably hearing Melinda talking to no one wasn't helping the situation any. She turned to face her frightened eyes and tried to explain in the most calming face she could muster. "I see spirits. I know it's crazy, but it's true."

To her surprise, Emily didn't flinch any. She guessed the last few days were crazier than someone being able to see ghosts ever could be. "Stacy Morgan, the," Melinda swallowed, "the last girl, is here. Right now."

Emily's eyes grew wide, "Really?" she asked, desperation clear in her voice, "Can… can she help us? Can she find a way out?"

"Umm," Melinda stalled, glancing at the ghost across the room, "I really hope so. But she's kind of confused right now."

"Confused?"

Melinda nodded. "It's a long story." she turned back to Stacy who was still sitting on the box, fingering a strand of hair thoughtfully. "Do you know anything of what happened to you?" she asked her again.

Stacy nodded slowly, deep in thought. "I know _how _I died."

"Okay, do you remember anything before that?" Melinda tried to help.

After a minute she shook her head. "It's all fuzzy," she admitted. Her eyes grew dark, "But I know it was Professor Eppes' fault." Stacy paused before adding, "I think. It's so hard to tell anymore."

Melinda bit her lip and glanced down the hall at the closed door. She wondered how much time she had before Rolands came back. Taking a deep breath, she began to retell what Amita had told her not even an hour ago. She tried to keep it brief and kept glancing at the door as she talked. Stacy seemed to grow even more confused but she also seemed like she was accepting the information Melinda gave her. Melinda found that alone a huge victory since it could be one of the hardest parts.

When she was finished, a silence fell in the room. Melinda watched Stacy's reaction closely, but she had a difficult time deciphering it. Finally Stacy spoke. "But… What about the e-mail?" she asked.

Melinda was caught completely off guard. "E-mail?" she repeated, trying to hide her surprise.

Stacy's trust seemed to falter for a moment. "Yeah… I was able to use the laptop for a minute. He just left it out and on, and I… I sent Professor Eppes an e-mail telling him where I was." She looked into Melinda's eyes with determination. "I know I did."

Melinda didn't know what to say. She wanted to tell the younger girl something that would convince her former teacher wasn't the bad guy, but she knew nothing of an e-mail. "Umm… I wasn't told anything about an e-mail…"

"What's she saying?" Emily asked, a little worry creeping into her voice. Melinda didn't answer her. She was too intent on what Stacy was saying.

"I know I sent it!" Stacy was now at the kitchen doorway. The anger that Melinda remembered filled her eyes again. "I know I did!"

Melinda felt like she was quickly loosing control of the situation. "No, look he was trying to find you! He just mad a mistake, and-"

"But I told him where I was!" Stay yelled at her. "I had to watch the police drive right by the house! What did I do that made me deserve what happened to me? What did I do to deserve that?"

Melinda tried to go another route since what she was trying to do now wasn't working. She swallowed and said calmly, "Stacy, I don't really think you believe that your professor was the reason you died. I think that you just feel angry that your life was taken away from you at such a young age. I heard that you had so much potential in your future. I think that you're mad because of that and you," she looked carefully at Stacy, "you just want someone to blame."

What Stacy did next wasn't exactly unexpected. The dizziness came back to Melinda as Stacy got angrier. It almost overwhelmed her, and she had to focus all of her energy into staying alert. "No, you're wrong!" Stacy screamed and disappeared just as one of the cardboard boxes went flying across the room and smashed into the wall. It fell to the floor, spilling out its contents in a heap.

Instantly, the door down the hall opened and Rolands stormed out. His face was red with fury. A hammer swung threateningly in his hand and suddenly with a sick realization, Melinda knew what caused the wound on Stacy's forehead. He moved quickly into the room and saw the box crumpled on the ground, spewing out clothes. "What the hell is going on?" His voice was soft but deadly.

He took the few steps across the room to Emily. He grabbed her arm and hauled her off the couch, ignoring the cry that she gave. Rolands sneered in her face, "You just can't be quiet and keep your nose out of things, can you?" Another whimper escaped Emily. "I think it's time I finished what I started." Rolands raised the hammer in his other hand.

"No!" Melinda leapt up and grabbed this hammer arm. She wasn't about to watch as he killed someone right in front of her. They all struggled against one another for a moment before Rolands swung out his arm with a grunt, pushing Melinda to fall on her knees. Emily pulled lose of Rolands' grip and scurried over to the corner.

Before she could react, a cold, hard, object made contact with the back of her head. Melinda fell forward as her senses were jumbled. A piercing light danced in front of her eyes that blinking didn't cure. She tried to get up, but found it nearly impossible to focus on anything for more than a second.

She was able to make out someone talking as black spots began to float into her vision. It took her a long time before she realized it was Emily.

"Stacy, if you can hear me, I know you don't know me," Emily said, "but I'm just like you. Even if you're right or not, please, just help us."

"Who are you talking to?" another voice filtered into Melinda's ears. Rolands. "Stacy…?"

Melinda felt herself on the edge of unconsciousness. But she heard Rolands say, "Stacy is dead," before completely blacking out.


	21. Chapter 20: 64

I've been incredibly busy for the last few weeks, what with school projects, finals, EOC's blah blah blah blah... Anyway, here's chapter 20. Very short, sweet and to the point. It's also the last Charlie based chapter in the entire story. Enjoy it.

- Thumper

* * *

**Chapter 20  
**64

It was only eight fifty-five in the morning and already Charlie felt like he was on top of the world. It had been four weeks- no, actually about four and a half weeks- since Charlie was able to focus on anything more than five minutes. A month since he didn't feel completely worn out constantly for no reason at all. Thirty-three days since his mind felt clear and open. And it was a wonderful feeling, like taking a breath of fresh air after being cooped up inside for months. It made him feel empowered. Invincible. As if nothing in the world could dampen his mood.

Charlie didn't know how exactly whatever had been oppressing him lifted. It just did. All of a sudden this morning, he just felt lighter. He still wasn't even sure what had caused it- virus, bacteria, state of mind- whatever it was, it was gone now, and Charlie actually felt… _normal_.

He had the morning off today and, since he was feeling so high, decided to take Larry's advice and try to make a difference for the better; track down Rolands once and or all. He was hesitant at starting on it at first, only mostly afraid that any correlation with that case would bring back the fog. But managed to push that thought aside and begin. He soon found that even with only half knowledge on the new case, he was able to take off pretty easily. Since then, Charlie had been lost in thought, somewhere he had wanted to be for the longest time. Today was definitely the best day he had had in a month.

A small noise raised him out of his own thoughts. Charlie glanced over to his left at the work he had already done. Something seemed out of place. He studied his equations for a minute before noticing that a number had changed. He was positive he wrote a thirty-four in the spot where a sixty-four was now residing. He must have put the wrong number down without realizing it. Quickly, Charlie erased the six with a single swipe of his finger and inserted a three. He didn't give it a second thought and continued where he left off.

It was a couple of minutes later when the sound came again. Charlie stopped completely this time and looked around to see where it was coming from. It sounded like chalk scraping on a chalkboard. Charlie shook his head. It was just his own work scraping along, he told himself. And then he saw the sixty-four again.

Charlie just stared at it for a moment. Hadn't he just changed that back to a thirty-four a minute ago? He shook his head to clear weird thoughts that were creeping up and replaced the six again, more slowly this time, to prove to him he changed it. Hesitantly, he went back to work as he tried to shake off the slight paranoia.

As soon as he started writing the sound came again. Instinct made Charlie glance at the thirty-four which, yes, changed again. He blinked twice and rubbed his eyes, but it was still there.

Charlie started to change it back for the third time, but stopped when he examined it a little closer. The six didn't even look like his own handwriting. That wasn't even possible. _What the hell is going on? _he thought.

There was a huge crash behind him and Charlie whirled around. "Hello?" he called nervously. There was no answer, but a box that had been sitting on a shelf was now on the floor, the contents spilled out around it. Crossing the garage, Charlie cleaned up the mess and placed the box back on the shelf where it had fallen. The shelf must have been tilted. He made a mental note to fix that later.

With a little more snooping about, it was clear that there was no one else there. Charlie returned to the chalkboard feeling more paranoid than ever. He took a glance at his work and came to a complete halt.

It was finished.

Completely finished.

Charlie had been close to finishing anyway, but he definitely hadn't finished and forgot about it. There was no way anyone could have done that in the time he had his back turned. And what would be the point? As if someone would sneak in to finish an algorithm. Right.

He cautiously approached the chalkboard and picked up the eraser to get rid of the mysteriously appearing ending, but stopped. It was correct.

Quickly, Charlie scanned the whole thing and stood back stupefied. The sixty-four that kept coming back fit in perfectly with the rest. It really wasn't a thirty-four he needed all along. And now he had the answer he had been searching for for the past six months: He knew where Parker Rolands was.

Charlie pulled out his cell and called Don, still dumbfounded with disbelief. So many conclusions to how everything happened swam in his head so much so that he didn't hear Don when he answered. On the third time his brother said his name, followed by an "Are you alright?" Charlie finally came back to reality. "Yeah, yeah, Don, I'm fine. I know where Rolands is."

There was a suspended stunned silence on the other end that asked so many questions. Finally Don said, "Are you sure?"

That made him pause. Was he sure? The answer was right there in the numbers, but he couldn't even remember writing it down. He wasn't even sure whether or not he was going crazy, how could he be sure of this? The only thing he was sure of is that he didn't want another ending like last time.

After a few moments of tense quiet, Charlie finally told him, "Yes. I'm sure."

Don didn't miss a heartbeat. "Where?"

Charlie quickly gave him the location and hung up. He turned back to the chalkboard, a newfound adrenaline running through his veins. Even with that, he almost stopped cold as he saw what was now scrawled on the board in neat handwriting, underlined twice.

_Hurry._


	22. Chapter 21: The End

No, this chapter does not mark the end of the wole story. Only the end of the main conflict. This is how it all finally plays out. Enjoy, and a review would be awesome and much appreciated.

- Thumper

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**Chapter 21  
**The End

Eight police cars screamed to a stop in front of a small house on an empty street. Neighbors peeked out of their windows behind curtains to see what all the noise was about. They seemed too nervous to even show their whole head in the window. That's what happens to a friendly neighborhood when disaster after disaster strikes it. Everyone becomes a recluse, streets are abandoned, and after a while the neighborhood falls apart.

That's what it was looking like now as Don climbed out of the car, fully armed with multiple guns, body armor, transmitter, et cetera. There were at least forty people surrounding him that were the same way. It seemed like every law enforcement agency was here; FBI, LAPD, SWAT, local stations, the whole nine yards was here to take down Los Angeles' latest serial killer. Don was feeling good about today. He finally felt that at the end of the day one more murderers would be off the streets and out of everybody's lives. He knew from experience though that he couldn't let the cockiness them feelings brought get in the way. If it did, the whole thing could be blown and multiple people would probably end up dead.

Definitely not the time for cockiness.

Don saw the rest of his team and moved to stand with them. "This is it," he announced to them.

"About damn time too," David added, fastening the strap of his vest.

"You can say that again," Colby chimed in.

Nikki looked at the tiny rundown house in front of them. Nothing moved in the windows; there was absolutely no sign of life at all. Not even a single bird in the yard. "Charlie was sure this was the place," she said, a hint of doubt in her voice.

Don nodded. "He was pretty clear. And if it's right with Charlie it's right with me."

"It's kind of weird," Liz shook her head with disbelief. "This was the next house on the list to check out."

It was true. They had managed to go through twelve of the thirty-two bookmarked houses on Rolands' computer. The newest one turned out to be occupied by a young couple. After that, they began weeding out the rest by newest bookmarked and closest availability. As it turned out, unlucky thirteen wasn't so unlucky after all.

Amita wasn't able to find anything with the Black Market site. There was too much protection that didn't allow anyone to backtrack any orders. This didn't really surprise anyone, but it was worth a try. Larry, however, had looked at the unsent e-mail that Stacy had made for Charlie and cracked it within two minutes. Apparently it told the exact location of the house where Stacy spent the last moments of her life. Of course there was nothing that helped them now and Don was still adamant on not telling Charlie that e-mail existed.

The house was surrounded now with pointing guns. A SWAT member on a loudspeaker started the normal hostage negotiation a few feet from where they stood. "Parker Rolands, you're surrounded. Come out with your hands in the air."

If only Emily wasn't in there with him, then they could storm the house and arrest Rolands without any worries. Don couldn't help feeling it would be a lot faster, but it was just too dangerous as it was. So they would try to talk him out, but if push came to shove…

There was no sound, no movement in the building. They waited patiently for five minutes, then ten. The SWAT gut tried a couple of more times to talk Rolands into coming out, but still nothing. By this time, Don was getting a little ancy. Maybe Charlie was wrong. He _had _been off the past few weeks, there was a possibility his conclusions were off too. If it happened once it could happen again.

Don could tell the agents around him were getting restless too when about twenty minutes passed without anything happening in the house. But then in the corner of his eye, he saw a shadow move in the curtained window. It was only a glimpse that lasted less than a half a second, but Don was sure it was there. "Did you see that?" he said loud enough for everyone close to him could hear. "He's in the window!"

With renowned hope, the SWAT member with the megaphone started trying again, saying something this time about how Rolands didn't want to kill anyone, he just let his temper get the best of him. Don sighed, aggravated, "I've had enough of this crap. David, take about five men and try to sneak around the back. Maybe we can flush him out."

David nodded and moved. But Don raised a hand to make him stop when the front door opened and the figure of a girl with dark curled hair appeared in the opening. Emily Harrison stood directly in the doorframe. A gunned hand wrapped around from inside, the barrel pointing to Emily's temple. Besides that, Rolands couldn't be seen; he was hidden too well behind Emily and the shadow of the house.

Everything got deathly quiet and still. For a moment Don was sure he could hear everyone's mind whirling, trying to figure out the quickest way to get Emily out of there and arrest Rolands. Rolands spoke before anyone else did. "Move everyone to the street!" he shouted at them.

Don was fed up with all that involved Parker Rolands by now. He waved at the SWAT member to back off and moved in full sight of the door. Emily Harrison starred at him with wide, red, frightened eyes. "We're done putting up with your shit, Rolands," he yelled at him with no need for the megaphone.

Rolands didn't waste a second. "Move your people to the street!" he ordered again more urgently.

"It's not gonna happen." Don didn't sway.

"Move everyone to the street or she dies!" Emily gasped as the gun clicked in her ear. He sounded desperate now. Desperate criminals with hostages were probably the worst possible situation they could get into. Don swallowed, thinking hard. He'd have to be a little rash if he wanted to reunite Emily with her parents.

"Come on, Rolands," he said, "You know I can't do that. This is it for you. You're not getting out of this scot free like the other times. And I know you don't want to kill Emily now." He paused and waited for a response. None came. "Just let her go and we can get this over with."

There was a long pause where it felt like everyone was holding their breath. And then Rolands exploded with a new infuriated anger. "No! Move everyone onto the street! I will kill her! Get everyone on the street!" His hand shook, and even from where Don was standing, he could see his knuckles turning white on the trigger. It was only a matter of time before he squeezed just a little too hard.

Don cussed to himself as he realized he had to back off. "Okay, fine!" he told him, "We'll try this your way." He motioned for everyone to leave their positions and stand near the street. At the same time, he silently told David to continue sneaking around to the back. David picked up on it and started walking carefully around the side, taking people with him as he went.

Finally, everyone was where Rolands wanted them to be. "Everyone is on the street," Don informed him. "Let Emily go."

Instead, Rolands pulled Emily sharply back into the house. Don was sure she was in eminent danger now, more than she already was before. He started running the few yards to the door, knowing there were agents right behind him. But before he even got halfway to the house, a woman stumbled out. Don had never seen her before and it took him off guard. She was older than Emily, and she looked dazed, as if she wasn't fully sure where she was. She turned a little, and he could see a large dark patch in the back of her brown hair. He stopped, completely blindsided by what Rolands had thrown him. Colby seemed to recover quicker than him; he ran to the woman and directed her to a waiting ambulance.

About at the same time, David rounded the corner with a sobbing Emily Harrison in tow. "We got her," he announced. "She came out the side door."

And then it hit him. "How many doors are there?" Don asked him.

David gave him a funny look. "Three," he said, "Front, back, side…" His face changed as he realized what had happened too.

Rolands had released Emily through the side door because he wanted to distract everyone with the other woman he had captured through the front. There was one more door and it wasn't being blocked by police anymore. "He's getting out the back!" Don yelled to the other agents and went into full sprint mode around the corner of the house.

Sure enough, Rolands was already making a break for it through the backyard and over the fence. Don followed behind him over the fence and into the neighbor's yard. Rolands was already a yard and a half away, but he wasn't going to get away this time. Don wasn't going to let it happen.

He was just gaining on him when Rolands made a sharp turn to the left, disappearing behind a house on the next street. Instead of following him around the corner, Don sprinted ahead. He glimpsed some of the other agents around him and heard the sirens pounding the air as he searched for the killer in between the houses. Finally he made a decision and turned toward the neighboring street.

Rolands flashed by and Don rounded the corner half a second later. He was right behind him now. Don reached out a hand and grabbed Rolands shoulder and yanked hard, making him stumble and fall to the ground. Of course by this time he had worked up too much mentum and found it hard to get a good grip on the ground to make himself stop. Rolands jumped right up again and took off, but Don was ready. He grabbed Rolands' arms with both of his hands and spun him around which made them both collapse to the ground in a panting, struggling, heap.

But Rolands had worked too hard the past six months to go to jail. Even after practically flying down the entire street, he was intent on giving a hard fight. He managed to free an arm out of Don's steel-like grip and slugged him right in the eye.

Undeterred, Don returned the favor to his jaw and added another just for good measure. Police cars surrounded them and a few seconds after, everyone on foot caught up. Don pulled the groaning Rolands to his feet, took a pair of handcuffs from Liz who had materialized close to him, and cuffed the man's hands behind his back with a more than satisfying click.

There was only one thing that still bothered Don, and he couldn't make it fit. Through his deep breaths, he asked the last question to Rolands; "Just tell me one thing, why did you change your victim type?"

Rolands turned to stare at him, death in his eyes. "I got bored," he told him simply. There was a hint of smugness in his voice that made Don's gut burn with disgusted anger. He shoved Rolands into the waiting car with enough force to topple him over the seat. After slamming the door shut, he stood and watched the police car pull away, taking Parker Rolands finally to where he belonged.

Liz came over and stood by him, handing him a bottle of water. "Are you okay?" she asked.

Don accepted the bottle and took a drink. "I'm fine," he told her. The time for aches and pains would come later after the adrenaline rush was over.

They were both quiet for a moment, just watching the police car drive away. "Prison's too good for a guy like that," Liz commented quietly.

Don thought about all that Rolands had put them through in the last half year. He wasn't sure how much any of the team had slept, how much time and energy that had been wasted trying to find him. The families of Brittany Taylor, Jennifer McFowel, Stacy Morgan, and Emily Harrison- not to mention the other woman that was trapped inside the house- had been forced through unimaginable changes in their lives, whether it be the loss of their loved one, or living with the fear they witnessed every day of their life from now on. And then there was Charlie and his denied mini mental breakdown he suffered after Stacy was murdered. It was unbelievable how one man with a messed up life could mess up so many others.

Don watched the police car as it turned the corner and vanished from his sight. "Yeah, whel, what can you do?" he sighed. Even though Rolands was finally arrested, there was a bitterness that hung in the air that victory couldn't erase.


	23. Chapter 22: Aftermaths

Here are the beginning of the last two chapters. Yay! Almost there! Enjoy the cross-over chapter...

- Thumper

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**Chapter 22**  
Aftermaths

For the second time that week, Melinda found herself in an unfamiliar LA hospital surrounded by nurses, doctors, and family members that walked up and down the halls, not to mention the occasional spirit that passed by. The only difference between this time and the last was that she was the patient.

She was sitting in one of the small rooms the nurses and paramedics ushered her to, waiting for Jim to come. Her head pounded in time with the beat of her heart even though she had been given painkillers and an ice pack. But worse than that, she was till… afraid. Melinda felt like if she turned around he would be there, gun in had, desperate, furious eyes. She couldn't seem to shake that feeling off no matter how hard she tried. She stole another glance in back of her for good measure and shivered, but not from the icy water that had leaked out of her ice pack. Melinda wished Jim to come a little faster.

There was a clock on the wall that told Melinda it was just after one o'clock. It almost seemed impossible to her that it was already in the afternoon. Everything after eleven thirty was a blur in her mind. It seemed like she had been trapped in that house forever, but then again it seemed like she was never there. It was like a dream that had terrified her and left her with the aftermaths of worry and confusion.

Melinda wasn't even sure that she remembered was right toward the end. There was so much pain and colors and noise. At one point she had been positive she was at the beach, since everything was so bright and sounded like the ocean through her muffled hearing. She had managed to drag herself partly back to reality though and had heard Rolands screaming out the door. A few seconds later, she could hear someone else talking to him. It was still to foggy to make out, but Melinda could put what Rolands was yelling together and figure out it was the police. She had a moment of sudden relief before she was yanked off the floor and pushed hard into a bright light.

It felt like she was floating into nothingness after that. It lasted so long Melinda had begun to worry she had actually died. She had been just able to see a shape running toward her and a pair of hands grabbed her arm. The person whose hands probably belonged to said something to her, but Melinda had been unable to focus on what he said. He had repeated it, but a sudden burst of noise drowned everything out. People yelled, sirens blared, and cars roared to life all at the same time. And as quickly as it had come, everything was quiet again.

Her vision had become clearer to the point that she could make out what was surround her. There wasn't many people there, or cars. A couple of ambulances were parked on the street along with a black SUV, but that was it. Melinda could see the still hazy figure of Emily a few feet away from her, being led by a couple of people in black vests to an ambulance on the street. Emily glanced over in her direction and began running to her.

"You were right," Emily babbled when she was close. "You were right. Stacy saved us."

For some reason, Melinda was alert enough to catch the questioning look the agents shared with each other. She couldn't find her voice though, so she gave Emily what she hoped was a nod and smile.

After a few minutes of sitting in the ambulance, all of Melinda's senses had come back to her. They had taken her to the hospital, gave her something for the pain, done a few tests, called Jim, and left her to figure out what had just happened. Nurses had been coming in and out, one right after the other so she would never be left alone with her thoughts for an extended period of time. Right now, Melinda was thankful for it.

She heard Jim's voice before she saw him. Just the sound of it calmed her more that any of the drugs she had been given. She stood up as he practically ran into the room and threw his arms around her. They hugged and cried into each other for a long time, neither one of them ever wanting to let the other one go. Finally Jim took a ragged breath and whispered, "I knew something was wrong. You weren't answering your cell, I knew it."

The last time Melinda had seen her phone was hen it had been thrown into the yard of the little house. She sniffed loudly and blubbered, "I'm sorry," into Jim's shirt. And she was sorry, sorry about everything that had happened that weekend and now this week.

"Shh, it's alright," he murmured in a soothing voice. He loosened his embrace so he could look at her. "Are you hurt?" he asked.

"Concussion," Melinda told him, touching the back of her head just slightly as she did so. She watched as Jim's expression went form concerned to horrified to sympathetic, to angry. "It could be a lot worse," she added meekly.

"If I ever get my hands on that guy-"

Melinda put her hand to his lips to stop him in the middle of his threat. "They caught him. It's over." She said, "He's going to jail."

Jim sighted and shook his head. "It's not good enough," he said.

She nodded and took a gasp of a breath as she fell into a wave of tears again. Jim held her closer and after a while, he said, "We're going home."

Melinda shook her head and started, "I have to-"

Jim cut her off with an irritated sigh, "No, Melinda, I'm tired of this. I thought I was okay with what you've been doing here, but you almost died today. I want to put all of this behind us and get out of here. Now."

"No, I know," Melinda told him. "Start packing everything up. I know how to end all of this. And I can do it tonight."

There were absolutely no second thoughts running through Melinda's mind as she made her way purposely down a slightly familiar hall of CalSci. It seemed almost like Stacy was following her, right behind her even though she wasn't in sight as Melinda walked to the classroom she was searching for. It was a day of truth and apologies, and she could tell just by the atmosphere that Stacy finally wanted to make things right.

Down the hall, the old professor who Melinda recognized from a few days ago was looking at her. A trickle of students was coming out of a nearby doorway, unaware that he was even there. The professor raised a hand to wave and smile at her before disappearing. A small grin formed on Melina's lips when she saw him, and she wondered if Eli had been to Boston yet.

She let someone with a backpack and ear buds in his ears pass before Melinda glanced into the room. When she saw him, she knocked three times on the open door. Charlie looked over from here he was erasing the chalkboard. When he saw her, mixed emotions ran over his face, but surprise was not on of them. A moment passed before he put down the eraser and dusted off his hands. "I had a feeling I'd see you again," he said.

Melinda stepped into the classroom. "I promise this will be the last time," she replied, "You just need to help me and… help Stacy." The last part came out hesitant because she knew that mentioning Stacy was almost tabooed around him.

But to her surprise Charlie didn't force her to leave right then and there like she half expected he would. He only gave her a tired yet determined look and said, "I can't believe that Stacy's spirit is here. It's just not possible for me."

"I think I can deal with that," Melinda told him. Usually the non-believers came around in the end, but she figured that she could work with this the way it was if she had to. Melinda didn't believe it was necessary to push the subject onto him for this one.

She took a quick glance around the room for Stacy, but found nothing. That ticked her off a little. Melinda had felt Stacy's energy since she had entered the school, like a push of excitement shoving her down the hallways. Now she was no where to be seen. She held back an irritated sigh as she slowly said, "I've been told mostly what happened." Charlie didn't look surprised, so Melinda continued. "But there's one thing I don't understand. Do you know something about an e-mail?"

He looked up at her with a confused expression. "A what?" he asked.

"An e-mail," Melinda repeated more perplexed than ever, "Stacy-" she stopped, thought, and backtracked, "I was told that she sent an e-mail to you, telling you where she was."

Melinda watched his reaction that brought no end to what she was feeling. Charlie seemed totally stunned by what she had told him. It was almost like he was fighting a battle within himself, part of him not willing to believe her and part of him desperately wanting to. "I never… I never got an e-mail," he finally said.

In her peripheral vision, Melinda saw Stacy standing in the corner of the room. She looked the most confused of all of them, her forehead wrinkled and doubt clouded her eyes. For the first time Melinda saw her, Stacy looked almost stricken. "I don't understand," she whispered quietly, calmly, "I'm sure it sent. I know it. I mean, he only left me alone for a minute and as soon as I sent it he came in the room, but… it had to go through." Stacy raised her eyes to Melinda's questioningly, desperate for an answer.

Melinda returned her stare for a moment before turning back to Charlie and repeating the conversation. "Stacy does- she… I don't…" Melinda stopped and let out an inaudible sigh. I was hard work trying to dance around the whole ghost issue and finally she gave up altogether. "She doesn't understand why you never received it."

If Charlie had any opposition against mentioning Stacy, he didn't show it. He only hesitated for a second and then spoke thoughtfully, "Amita was able to look over Rolands' personal computer and found a number of high-tech security systems that required passwords. The e-mail could have had one of those systems programmed in it."

Melinda glanced back to where Stacy was standing for a quick look to see how she reacted. "I feel so… so stupid," Stacy admitted, "I don't know how I could have gotten so idiotic and selfish, and… angry."

"You were confused," Melinda told her. She cast a sideways look to Charlie, but he wasn't looking at her. She spoke softly anyway. "You didn't know what happened, and you were cared and in denial. It happens a lot, actually. More than you'd think."

Stacy gave a small smile. "It doesn't excuse what I did though." She paused and said after a moment, "Tell him I'm sorry. For everything."

Melinda nodded and turned back to Charlie, only hesitating for a split second before relaying the conversation to a simple point. "She wants you to know she's sorry for everything that's happened," she told him.

There was that inward battle again as he struggled to find the right way to act and the right thing to say. Finally he just settled for a simple nod that didn't seem ungrateful. But Melinda wasn't sure if that would be enough to let Stacy cross over. She looked back over at the ghost, trying to figure out her next step as the messenger. To her surprise, she saw Stacy staring into the middle of the room admiringly, tears beginning to glisten in her eyes.

"I see my daddy," she said wonderingly, "And Grammy." A smile launched itself on her face that made her look alive for a moment. She took one small step, but stopped.

Melinda was confused, "What about forgiveness?" she asked, because that was what most ghosts wanted when it came down to it.

Stacy looked at her like remembering a dream. Then she laughed. "I spent two and a half years in Professor Eppes' classes. I know this is the best I'm going to get. Besides," she added "He still doesn't believe this is really real, so in a way, he doesn't blame _me_ for what I did anyway."

Melinda though about that for a minute and nodded. It did make sense to some degree.

Looking back to the center of the room, Stacy began to walk to where she saw the Light. She stopped suddenly again and looked back toward Melinda. "Can you tell him one more thing?" she asked.

Melinda nodded.

With a mischievous grin, Stacy said, "Tell him thirty-four would have lead to a car dealership."

She nodded again, only a little puzzled over that. In silence, she watched Stacy walk a couple of ore steps before completely disappearing for the very last time. A feeling rose in Melinda that she couldn't quite explain afterwards. She turned back to Charlie after a couple of seconds, not sure what to say to end this. "It's over," she finally said, and left it at that.

Charlie still held onto that look of confusion that was present since the beginning. But now awe and something else that could only be described finality touched his features. "It really is," he said. And it sounded wholesome. He sank into the desk chair looking like something important had just happened to him, but he couldn't quite recall what.

She turned to leave, but paused before she made it to the doorway. "Can I ask you one question?" Melinda asked him

Charlie blinked a few times to revive himself from his stupor. "What?" he asked hoarsely.

"Why didn't you just throw me out as soon as I came in here talking about Stacy?" she questioned.

He thought for a little bit before replying, "I thought about it and talked to a couple of people and…" he paused, "We're both adults. I needed to start acting like one." A small grin lit up his face, "besides, I knew you'd never leave me alone if I didn't start cooperating."

Melinda smiled and got to the doorway before she remembered what Stacy had told her to pass on to him before she left. She turned around, "Oh, Stacy wanted to tell you something else."

Still in the chair, Charlie swiveled around to face her, "Oh yeah? And what was that?"

Just the tone in his voice made a smirk force its way onto Melinda's lips. He sounded doubtful and full of half-feigned interest. It almost reminded her of how someone would ask a child what Santa Clause had brought them for Christmas even though they had bought the gifts. At that instant, Melinda realized that it would have been a losing battle if she had tried to force Charlie to believer that dead people still walked the earth. Her smirk grew wider as she thought of what Stacy had told her. It had to have some kind of hidden meaning that he would understand. "She said thirty-four would have led you to a car lot."

Melinda only watched long enough to see Charlie's face go from the somewhat cocky expression he was wearing, back to confusion, to wonder and then some mix of the two. She left him sit there, mouth half open, lost in his own thoughts as she slipped out of the room. A huge smile escaped from her lips as she almost bounced down the hall. She could hardly remember a time when she felt better than she did now.


	24. Chapter 23: A Little Bit Alright

I'll just insert my whole "Omgthisistheend!" speech here, because I don't want the last thing you remember about NST is my babbling.

Well, this is the first ever chaptered story I've ever finished (and first fanfiction, not that it matters), so I guess No Such Thing is kind of a milestone story for me. I can't believe I actually stayed up to two in the morning some nights to just finish a chapter, or how I obsessed over these series for weeks on end (ok, just typing that sentence reminded me how much of a geek I am...).

But enough of that. I want to thank anyone who ever read even a section of the prologue. It makes my heart leap just to see some hits on my page. Thanks especially to the reviews I got, you guys don't even know how much they made me smile. You brighten my life. Literally. And thank you to the people who put up with my procrastination and actually read my updates even though they were months apart (coughlike these chapterscough).  
And I guess I should send a thanks out to everyone who had any part in these wonderful TV series. They've brought so much entertainment in my life since, well, 2006 I guess. Even to CBS, even though they have completely ruined my Friday TV watching, but whatever. CBS is still wonderful.

I have a few weird ideas roaming around in my head for future stories, but they will honestly probably be far away. Someday though, someday...

Anyway, enough of me, here's the last chapter of No Such Thing. I hope you like it.

Thanks again for reading. I will be back with mores stories in the future. But for now I'm out.

- Thumper

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**Chapter 23**  
A Little Bit Alright

Colby shut the file with an unsatisfying quick _plop _and threw his pen onto the desk to make up for it. He then stretched his arms out far in back of him, nearly whacking David in the back of the head. "Done," he announced.

Four heads raised briefly at his voice. Liz looked down at her part of the paperwork and looked back up. "No way!" she exclaimed. Colby shrugged. "How is that even possible?"

Colby gave her a sideways glance, "Only a little," he admitted. All of a sudden, four heads were lowered again. "The point is it's only seven o'clock, we caught a six month old serial killer today, and Bradley's buffet is still open. We can do paperwork when we're dead."

"Sometimes I feel that's going to happen sooner than I think," Nikki muttered.

"Come on, celebratory dinner's on me," he said, grabbing his coat from the back of his chair.

"I'm game," Nikki said after a moment. She closed what she was working on and stood up, cleaning up her stuff as she did.

Liz sighed and shut her paperwork too. "Why not," she agreed, "It is free food."

"David?" Colby turned to him, shrugging on his coat.

"Nah, I think I'm gonna pass this time," he told them, stretching from his seat, "The only thing I want to do is sleep for the next two weeks."

"Suit yourself." Colby turned to where Don had been sitting quietly for the past few hours. "What about you, Don?"

Don leaned back in his chair and linked his fingers behind his head. His right eye looked just a little darker than the other in the artificial light. He thought about the offer, "I think I'm just going to call it a night guys," he finally said.

"See you tomorrow then," Liz told him as Nikki, Colby, and her headed to the elevator. Don nodded and gave a thrown "You too," in response. A few minutes later David got up and left for the night too with the same goodbyes.

Don sat at his desk for a while, not working, not really thinking, just sitting. There was still a slight nagging feeling that gnawed on him and refused to go away. I messed with him too; making him hungry, but not hungry, tired, but not tired. It seemed to tap into his decision making so he wasn't sure what he wanted to do, whether go home or finish up the paperwork.

He was just about to grab his stuff to make the trip to his apartment for some sleep, when his phone rang, starling him just a bit. It was the person he knew from the LAPD

"I just thought you should know," he said once Don answered, "Rolands never made it to the penitentiary."

Suddenly Don was alert. The ever present nagging feeling dropped into the pit of his stomach at the thought of Rolands escaping. "What do you mean?"

"He offed himself on the ride over there. Picked a pocket knife off of the driver and slashed his throat right there in the backseat. By the time they got him to the hospital he was already gone."

Don swallowed and thanked him for the information before hanging up. After setting the phone down, he ran a hand across his eyes as a way to try to fight the sleep that threatened. All of a sudden he just felt exhausted.

He could only think of how incredibly selfish Parker Rolands was. It was obvious that he was going to at least be put away for life, possible get the death sentence anyway for what he did. But somehow taking his own life seemed incredibly unfair. A person like Rolands didn't have the right to decide when he was going to die himself. Everything about or connected to Parker Rolands seemed totally unfair.

But there was also a sense of closure about the whole thing. Somehow it seemed the only thing that could end the past six months was his death.

Feeling only a tad bit lighter, Don changed his mind again, grabbed his coat, and left the office for another day.

Once again, the world felt right.

For the first time in a long time- almost forever, what it seemed to him- Charlie felt normal. He had finally been able to concentrate today, finally able to focus on something more than a few minutes. No headaches, no dizziness, nor unexpected exhaustion since that morning. The heaviness that had been oppressing him seemed o have finally lifted, making him feel as light as air. After all that time, he felt like he had been drowning and suddenly saved from death, able to gasp at the air that he had been deprived of for so long.

There were a couple explanations to why he was feeling this way. One was the reason that Charlie favored- he had been so stressed out about the case that he lost touch with reality. Now that Rolands was safely caught and behind bars, he was able to relax. The other was the impossible; Melinda Gordon had been right all along about Stacy and ghosts and everything. It was still ridiculous to Charlie to believe, even though the last thing Melinda had told him puzzled him. But he would figure it out later, another time, another day. Eventually he would make sense of it.

Right now however, he was making use of his returned concentration and catch up on some much needed grading. Charlie was only about a third of the way through the huge stake when the front door opened. He raised his gaze to see Don enter the house. "Hey," he greeted him, a little surprise, "I thought you would be working late."

"Eh," Don gave him a curt reply. He motioned to the stack, "What are you doing?" he asked.

"Grading," Charlie told him. "I guess it started piling up since I got…" He paused for the longest time, searching for the right thing to say. Finally he decided on, "sidetracked."

Don came over and sat down, glimpsing his brother's expression. He looked at the stack of papers again and said slowly, "Well, it's good that you're not… sidetracked… anymore."

The odd tingling feeling of knowing this conversation meant something entirely different trickled up Charlie's spine. "Yeah. It is good," he agreed.

There was silence in the room for a couple of minutes. After a little while Don took a breath as if he was going to say something but then thought against it. Charlie looked up, "What?" he prompted.

Don hesitated. It seemed like he had something important to tell him, perhaps about the case, perhaps not. Whatever it was, Don shook his head and said, "It can wait till another time."

Charlie gave him a funny look for a moment before nodding. The familiarity of the statement struck him. It seemed that a lot of things could just wait.

A day later, Grandview

"Oh, it is so good to be home!"

Melinda stepped into the house and promptly set her bags down. She took one deep breath and let it out slowly and noisily. Home never seemed as wonderful as it did that minute.

Jim stepped in behind her with the rest of the luggage. "Tell me about it," he sighted, setting everything by the stairs. "I think I need a vacation from that vacation."

Melinda gave him a small smile but didn't say anything. She still couldn't believe all that happened in California, it still didn't seem real even a whole day later. She had wondered all through the plane ride when it would hit her and how it would feel when it finally did. Maybe it would come when she told Delia. All she knew is that she just wanted to put it all behind her.

They had left on the first flight of the morning. Neither of them had felt much like staying on the other side of the country for the rest of the week, so going home early seemed like the natural thing to do. And now that they were finally home, Melinda felt like it was the best decision of her life.

Jim collapsed on the couch, yawned, and rubbed his eyes. "I don't think I can remember a worse week that this one," he said.

"It wasn't all bad," Melinda countered, sitting next to him. She thought about the sights, the weather, and Stacy. Not to mention the family of the professor that Eli had helped. If there was one thing Melinda knew, it was that nothing was all bad.

Jim didn't say anything at that. Of course it wasn't as easy for him to compensate for what happened.

For a few moments they just sat there, enjoying the familiar coziness of the house and each other's company. After a while, Melinda broke the silence by mumbling drowsily, "I think I could sleep for a month."

There wasn't any answer to that either. Melinda narrowed her eyes and looked at her husband. Apparently he was getting a head start on that month.

Sighing, Melinda got up, careful not to wake Jim, and made her way to the kitchen. She took a glass out of a cabinet and a bottle of juice form the refrigerator. Before she shut the door all the way though, Melinda thought she caught a flash in the reflective surface of the fridge. She stopped what she was doing and searched the door to catch another glimpse, suddenly very alert.

"Hello?" she called, her voice uncertain in the quiet room. It was a few moments later when she saw it again, this time flashing across the appliances and on the light. There it paused long enough for Melinda to make out the general shape of a person before it was gone.

Melinda suddenly remembered the plate at the shop before she had left for California. As it turned out, she had left a ghost behind. And she would have to deal with it now.

A yawn escaped her. Well, it could wait until tomorrow.

Pouring herself a glass of OJ, Melinda went back into the living room and curled up next to the sleeping Jim. A warm sort of feeling grew inside her and, for the first time since she was in Parker Rolands house, she felt like the world was safe again.


End file.
